It took three days to clean the house out. Madge's hands roughened even more wrapped around a broomstick. Her knees ached. Keeled over scrubbing mottled moss specks from the floorboards. Broken, half-rotten furniture hauled down the steps and dumped into the other bombed-out ruins. Nobody complained. Panem had just started to repair the shattered remnants of its former life and Madge was just one citizen out of a million.
She reconnected the phone line. The first call was Mr Argent informing they'd be releasing the rest of the Undersee family assets to her name. In a fit of excitement, Madge put on a white dress and ran all the way to the bank. Only to discover what little funds Snow had frozen were spent on defense attorneys and bribes to ensure their family wouldn't wind up in a ditch. She was lucky the bank hadn't passed on their family debts. Madge resisted the urge to spend the money on fancy clothes and ate somewhere other than a soup kitchen, for once.
Capitol skies opened up and poured the last of winter's fury in a week-long blizzard. Madge huddled in her barren home. The stove glowed with what little coal she could afford, burning out completely before she dared feed another lump from her dwindling rations. The piano presented a potent source of distraction - playing and playing until the notes danced around her head like some far off ball she'd never attended before. With the wind howling outside, Madge connected each tune to another. A melody she never tried before. Shutting her eyes and letting the memories bloom of their own volition. Her fingers built a ramshackle bridge from concertos and symphonies. Hovering over a lake of darkened memories she still couldn't see her own reflection in.
Her ears rang with pain and fingers ached. Madge paced the empty house like a raging animal wrapped in three jackets. She checked and rechecked every corner. Refitted the sheets. Scrubbed the bathroom until her hands bled. In the ensuing hysteria to keep warm she missed a step and tripped over a gap in the hallway's flooring. Fudgestickles, Madge swore. Eyes widened when she saw an empty shadow lurking beneath. She pried open the chipped wood and found a hinge installed. In the dim, yellowing light Madge sucked in a deep breath as her hand reached in and touched-
Books.
Dozens of them. Bound in leather, fabric, cardboard and paper. Huge volumes wide as her hand. Novellas. Paperbacks. Titles and authors she couldn't recognise yet strummed that chord of memory in her chest. She felt the resonance even before turning to a random page:
"...are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."
Legs perched on the opposite wall. Madge read and read. Her lanky frame slouched across the hallway. Skin drawn tight in a ghostly shade of white. Huddled against the cold, she pored over each sentence, not knowing where the story really began or led but feeling each peak and trough of their fictional fortunes like the rise and fall of her chest. Each argument. Each lovelorn confession. Every tenderhearted greeting or sorrowful farewell lit a flicker in her chest. It wasn't until teardrops splotched the final page that Madge realised she'd read this book before, somewhere in her previous life.
"That was a good one," Madge murmured, looking at the darkened sky - still grey with pouring sleet. The other pile of books looked back at her. "Let's get you downstairs, away from this rat-infested dungeon, shall we? You need a way better display cabinet for what magnificent stories you are."
She spent the rest of the blizzard moving books to the living room. An unused kitchen shelving unit formed a makeshift book cabinet. Before she quickly realised it wasn't enough to contain all the books. Madge braved the blizzard and lugged back wooden planks from a bombed-out house. In between nailing shelves and polishing hardwood - she took reading breaks. Cross-legged and hunched before her new library. Each word glowed like an ember. Each sentence struck a spark. Madge hurled herself through the musty chapters. Hoping that if she gathered enough sparks, she might one day get a fire going. A burning torch that could light the dark, cavernous expanse of her empty mind.
Despite devouring stacks of books, Madge never fanned the sparks into flame. No matter how many Piano concertos she played, the bridge never connected to its shore. The house, even with all her cleaning and polishing and rearranging furniture - still felt as empty and hollow as the first day she arrived. Spring's long awaited arrival brought cooing pigeons and the scent of blooming flowers. Smoke still lingered in the air but Madge threw open the windows anyway. Pulled an armchair up to the first storey window and felt the sun on her face. An empty chair sat across from her. She hadn't hesitated for a moment to put one there. Perhaps, in the back of her mind - she'd longed so much for someone to sit in its place that she'd went ahead to prepare anyway. The tangled ball of wanting someone in the seat sent Madge to a thrift shop where she bought the cheapest typewriter she could find. Setting it on a desk by a window overlooking the first cherry blossoms of spring. Her fingers cramped the instant she touched the keys. Felt a man's shadow behind her shoulder. Before she could break out in cold sweat, went back downstairs and opened a book instead.
Food supply resumed. For the first time in her life, Madge bought milk and cookies before she thought about bread. Returning to her empty house weighed down by food parcels and praying the cranky refrigerator still worked. She boiled cabbage and potato soup and bit back tears of nostalgia remembering how Bev used to scold her for double-sipping a single bowl of soup they'd pass around the cell. When the reminiscence became too much to bear, she went back to the piano and played her tears away. Screwing her eyes shut and not stopping until she heard footsteps behind.
Weighed by groceries, Madge had completely forgotten to shut her front door.
She whirled around and saw a child stumbling into her living room. Followed closely by a Capitolite woman, tall heels clacking on her board and apologies rolling off her lips.
"I'm so terribly sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," the lady grabbed her child's hand, still reaching towards her shelf full of books, "Cornelius must've heard the music and he's so naturally curious he broke free."
"Oh, no - it's fine, I didn't know my playing could be heard on the street-"
"I've never seen you around here before, actually - this wasn't a bookstore last I remembered."
Madge's eyes widened, "Ma'am, this isn't a-"
Cornelius's insistency won out and he staggered towards the lowest shelf. He promptly pulled a bright picture book and squealed in delight at the pictures of rabbits and birds in swooping, colourful woodprints.
"You want that one?" she crouched and hauled Cornelius into her arms, now pliant and engrossed in the book. Madge reached for another picture book to give him, only to find a few coins clinked into her hand.
"Thanks so much sweetie, you're a lifesaver," she muttered, "this will keep him out of my hair for the rest of the day."
"Uh, actually - "
The lady turned around at the door, brown fur coat and feathery hat, "I'm Beatrice - live down the street. Come say hi sometime!"
The entire exchange hadn't even taken two minutes. Madge stood there dumbfounded by the coins. The empty slot on her shelf. She still hadn't the foggiest idea how prices worked in the Capitol. No one haggled and everyone appeared nonchalant about money despite the supposed shortages. The coins appeared far more than a fair price - but perhaps it meant more to keep Cornelius occupied. An idea sprouted in her mind and Madge put on her coat. She went back to the thrift store and bought out every book she could find. Stationery for writing letters. Children's books. Adults books. Cooking Manuals and Botanical Encyclopedias. Only skipping over a discarded copy of Snow's Capitol Treatises.
She spent all the woman's coins and some of her own on another shelving unit. Lugged back on her shoulders. Within another day she repeated the process on another thrift store. The abundance of discarded books staggered her. Capitolites were more preoccupied with their clothing collections than keeping books. Nonetheless, she lined them neatly, sorted by topics. She arranged and rearranged. Filled another shelving unit. Turned all her furniture around so she'd never have her back toward the doors. Another customer, a Capitolite gentleman - showed up looking for a gift. Followed by two giggly teenagers blushing at romance novels. One customer a day became two. Then several more, mostly just browsing. Madge attached a bell to her door so she'd know when people were in her living room. She made more trips to thrift stores, wiping out every one within a three mile radius. Finally purchasing a bicycle and a wagon so she'd take trips to an abandoned scrapyard. Just so she could sort through the vast stockpile of discarded property Coin's sudden bout of warfare had caused.
The once-prim Mayor's daughter sat on a stack of half-burnt discarded furniture. Wagon full of books at her feet. Munching on Foccacia bread with the fiery sunset haloed in her golden hair. A dense breeze brought the sting of smoke to her eyes. If she closed them, she'd be transported back to the shores of District 4. The same red sky threaded in pink and gold. If she relaxed further into her thoughts - could smell the pine from a far off forest in District 12. Hear the Coal mine's shift whistle blowing. Feel a rough hand linking into hers.
Salt touched her lips and she wiped her tears away. She wished she'd have someone to marvel at this sunset with. A shoulder she could lean on. That scent of a girl's hair to fill her lungs. Lips that kissed her back. Her chest quivered and ached. A hunger for something other than this piece of bread filled her. How? How do you yearn for something you've forgotten you had?
Madge cycled back. Her eyes avoided the nearly omnipresent glare of Katniss Everdeen upon her frail self from posters and billboards. She knew she shouldn't feed that ache in her chest any longer. The shudder within her calmed as Billboards flickered away to display Paylor and her new cabinet. But that arrow Katniss's image shot still festered in her chest like a wound that'd never heal. None of the books she pored cover-to-cover could heal that raw longing. She had to make this salve herself. Beneath the soft moonlight, Madge sat before her typewriter and dumped the void of her memories onto a page.
"Standing before the audience that'd seek to kill her - the Mockingjay spreads her wings on the stage of destiny. She soars into the air. Leaving a forest on fire behind her. One would imagine this bird fleeing the destruction of her habitat. But it is the fire she has lit herself. All wild and catastrophic and bringing about a storm of change for Panem…"
Beatrice showed up the next day looking considerably more haggard despite Cornelius's best behaviour. She gawked at the shelves; they'd now spanned the entirety of Madge's living room.
"Lovely to see you back, ma'am. Did Cornelius enjoy the book?"
Beatrice shifted about, the boy squealed in his arms.
"Look, I'm at my wits end and people have been saying what a charming place this is," she turned to the floor-to-ceiling aisles of books, "my boss told me that I had to stop bringing my son to work. I didn't even work in an office before the war, can you imagine that? Now my husband's dead. And I have to look after this guy - as bubbly as a fellow he is."
"Uh - do you want another book to keep him busy? I've got-"
"My usual babysitter is heading back to her District - she wrote me a note at the last minute because she couldn't speak," Beatrice sighed, "the people in the neighbourhood have been talking about you, actually. What a pity it was for a young girl to live alone, they assumed you lost a husband in the war."
Madge's skin went cold at the thought of people gossiping about her.
"I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am - but I didn't."
"You look like such a sweet girl - diligent too, you must've done all this by yourself," Beatrice stepped closer, outstretched hand that Madge already knew what laid within, "would you mind looking after Cornelius for the day? He isn't much trouble, I swear - I'll make it worth your while. At least until I can get another sitter for him."
The coins fell into her hand before she could say no. Beatrice left her house without Cornelius noticing. Tiny hands had already pried open another picture book. Squeaky voice mimicking sounds the book made from little buttons.
"Twuck!" Cornelius squealed, "Car! Bus! Twain!"
"Train," Madge corrected with a wide-beaming smile, "Also how I ended up in this place."
He looked up at her with brilliant, green eyes. A fit of giggles ensued. Madge laughed along until she thought of Cassia buckled over in laughter on the beach.
"I have a full day today," Madge set out a glass of milk and some cookies, "try to keep yourself busy, alright?"
Cornelius remained fixated on her picture books despite Madge buzzing about sorting through books and clattering on her typewriter. She took a break to play the piano and sing songs to him. The little boy made a poor attempt at a tapdance before falling over into a pile of giggles again. She fed him applesauce for lunch and ate the cookies herself. Customers came and went. Cornelius made it a point to stagger over to each one and insist on a handshake. Nobody could deny him. Before she knew it, the sun hung low and Beatrice returned to find him stretched out on an armchair, sound asleep.
"You're a miracle, I could never get him to fall asleep," Beatrice gushed, slowly cradling him, "how much do you want?"
Madge smiled back at her, "Uh, didn't you pay me this morning?"
"A little bonus then," Beatrice winked, stacking yet more coins into Madge's palm, "for being my pretty little lifesaver. I promise I'll get out of your hair once I find a permanent sitter."
"Ma'am, you're always welcome - Cornelius has been a real joy-"
The door shut in her face, leaving Madge alone in the silence yet again. She turned to look at the cushion's slight dent where Cornelius's head just laid. Touched the point of her elbow where Beatrice had brushed past. Coins still warm in her hand and perfume fragrant in her nose. She pressed a hand to her chest and fled upstairs to her typewriter - wanting to numb herself with the cathartic release of words on a page. Only to find yet another full moon mocking her solitude. She picked up a pen and letter stock paper. Put it back down. Turned, saw an empty armchair. Turned again; an immaculately-made single bed. Cold and empty. Panic gripped her and she fled into the bathroom. Her own reflection in the mirror glared back. The same pale and drained face she met at a flooded bomb crater just months ago.
"How?" Madge splashed water at her shaking face, "How do people deal with this?"