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“I volunteer!” Katniss gasps, “I volunteer as tribute!”
There’s a scream as Katniss steps forward. It must be Primrose. I have always felt for the little girl. She’s about the same age as Rory.
“No, Katniss! No! You can’t go!”
“Prim, let go,” Katniss grits out, “let go!”
Then there is Gale. I can see him. I can’t see his face clearly but he’s holding Prim away from Katniss saying something to her. The two were basically inseparable.
Always together. It was Katniss and Gale. Never one without the other. Never again, it seems.
I’m sure I know Katniss better than anyone. I’m aware of her relationship with my son, far more then friends but nothing near lovers. Not on Katniss’ part, at least. I can’t seem to say the same for Gale. I’ll miss the girl dearly, the times we shared tea, the times we talk while I make dinner, the relationship she has with Posy, Vick and Rory. I shake my head slightly, trying to get rid of the thought.
Not one person in the crowd claps when Katniss introduces herself to the people on stage. It’s complete silence. That’s how District 12 is. They like to express their disagreement. I squeeze Posy’s hand when the girl looks up at her. I place a finger to my lips, shushing her.
It starts with one person raising their hands to their lips, then to the sky, before most of the crowd does the same, including some of the older kids gathered for the reaping. There is a man who stumbles onto stage at one point, yelling nonsense before falling off the stage. Vick lets out a quiet laugh, hiding his face in my skirt to stifle it.
I glance back towards where Gale was holding Prim. I can see the girl sobbing against his shoulder, his face unreadable. My poor boy.
Dinner is nearly done when the door opens. It has been hours since Gale left the house. Gale seems calmer, like he does when he comes back from being with Katniss. I know the two do something outside the fence--bringing home fresh meat and warm bread isn’t quite possible when it costs so much—but I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I support it.
After dinner, with the kids in bed and the washing up all done, I finally have time to sit with Gale. I grab one of his hands, bringing it up to my lips. A way of comfort, perhaps.
“How was your visit to Katniss before she left?” My voice is soft, letting our hands drop to my lap.
I recall the walk back from the square. It’s the first time I noticed how tense and quiet Gale got. He held Posy close to his chest while she slept, eyes straight ahead. His steps were quick, and his jaw tense. I felt bad for him. The only real friend of his, gone. Sending herself to her own death. When we got home, Gale placed Posy down carefully in her bed before storming out of the house. I just hoped he comes home for dinner.
Gale doesn’t speak for a moment, and I let it happen. I know how hard being a teenager is, their feelings, their unwillingness to speak to their parents—to anyone, really.
“She’ll win. She has to,” Gale murmurs, his voice low, barely audible. It’s a difference compared to the usually loud boy. It breaks my heart. I place a hand on Gale’s shoulder, pulling him closer for a hug. I rest my chin on the top of Gale’s head, running a hand over his back soothingly.
Comforting people has never been my forte, but I try my best and it seems to work. “I’m sure she will. Katniss is a strong girl. You know that”
Gale shrugs weakly. He mustn’t trust my words. Fair enough, I suppose, I wouldn’t either. Not when the last person to win from district 12 was nearly 25 years ago. The people from the other districts always seem to have a better chance.
Even when Gales father died, he didn’t seem to be this bad. He had… right. He doesn’t have Katniss to rely on anymore.
The boy was barely home when he was 12. His time outside increased. His attitude changed, and while he was helping with the younger kids, he was rarely talking to me—and when he was, he was yelling. But this is different. This is a different kind of mourning. Mourning for someone who is still alive, but you would likely never see again. A quiet, dangerous type of emotion. One that I will have to watch closely.
Gale stands from the kitchen chair, pushing himself away. He walks down the hallway, his footsteps loud. The door doesn’t slam when Gale shuts it, but the loudness is alarmingly stark in the quiet house. I stare down the hallway, towards the door Gale shut, and sigh. I don’t think I will get through to him anytime soon. I don’t think he’ll be alright any time soon either. I shut my eyes. There isn’t anything I can do unless Gale lets me in. I just hope he talks to me soon.