Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games.
*It is the awesome Gale Hawthorne's PoV*
I can't believe it. It's just . . . a lot to process. You'd think that the Capitol would be a little traditional. They do it each year; after the tributes get chosen, their family and friends can come and wish them goodbye. But—that doesn't happen this year. They just take Katniss and Peeta Mellark over to the train directly. I try to make my way to the train but I can't make it in time. They ride off to that damn Capitol.
I didn't get to say goodbye.
I watch the train station for a moment before I start running. I pass everyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I pass my mom, my siblings, Mrs. Everdeen, Prim. I ignore them.
She was my best friend. And now she's going to her death.
Damn the world.
I keep running, past the gathered crowds, down the dirt streets. Pass the Peacekeepers with their stupid guns that keep us from revolting. Why? Why. I just want to know why.
I keep going until I reach the grass near the fence. Even I can't climb over the fence anymore. Protocol with keeping us inside their cage has been fixed up around here since Thread.
I fall onto my knees and my hands slam into the wispy, nearly nonexistent grass, and for the first time in a long, long time, I feel a tear slip down my cheek.
I haven't cried in a long time. I think the last time was when Dad died. Even then, I'm not sure. I was too angry then and too angry and frustrated now to remember. Even when Katniss went in the Games last year, I didn't cry. I had to be strong, for her and her family, for my family. I maintained a good look on the outside, but emotions tore me up inside. They tore me up so much that I barely watched any of the Games. Who wants to see the person that you spend every day with, survive with, confide in, maybe even love, get killed on national TV?
Luckily she didn't. But she's bound to this time.
I raise my hands and pound the ground, taking pleasure in strength and pain. I do it again, and again. I began to breath heavily as I do it three more times before I just stop. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want this anymore. We should have fled before this happened.
But now she's gone. It's too late.
I sit back on the grass and hug my knees to myself. I set my chin on my knees and let another tear slip.
Damn the tears.
I hear a voice. "Gale?"
It's tear-filled and I don't even bother wiping the tear. It's just Madge.
I hear her coming toward me long before she sits next to me. I allow one look at her from the corner of my eye. She's wearing that dress she's been wearing to the Reaping for three years now. Her blonde hair is disheveled; it's obvious that she's crying. I can hear her shudder with sobs. Normally, I'd be mad at her for crying, for Katniss was more a friend to me than she was to her. Yet, I've been rather estranged from her over the past few months. She and Madge probably are good friends now.
It's good that she has someone her age to talk to besides Peeta Mellark. All he does is train her. That is, that was all he did as far as I know. Now on the train, I'm not sure what they'll do.
I sigh and try not to think about that.
Madge's hand goes up to her eye to wipe a tear away and she says, "I miss her too."
And then I realize that she's feeling the pain as well. The pain that fills you up. Eventually some of it leaves, but you still retain a little that hurts you the rest of your life.
"I know," I whisper before ducking my face. I bring it back out again when I realize that I don't have to hide my tears in front of Madge.
"And all we wanted to do was say goodbye," she adds, wiping again at her face.
I look over at her and our eyes meet. Hers are bloodshot; mine must be soon.
"Madge. . ." I start.
"Gale," she says, "don't," and to my surprise, her arms stretch out and wrap around me.
I hug her back.
She puts her head against my chest and I put my head on top of her blonde head. And we just sit there like that for hours, watching the sun set.
We both stop crying after a while. It won't help our situation, and it sure as hell won't help Katniss's. So we sit, and in the quiet, without words, we silently comfort each other.
Gale . . . and Madge . . . why are all these feels here? WHY?
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