Gale. Even through the haze of it all, I would know his voice anywhere. What is he doing here? And almost more importantly, which version of Gale is it? I slide down to a crouch, head held in my hands, breathing slowly. District 12. Gale. Already I can feel the crunch of bone underneath my feet, because the skulls of the dead are everywhere.
I killed you. And you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm- it's not enough, though. It's never going to be enough.
"Gale," I'm sure he'll be able to hear me. Everything seems louder in the complete stillness of 12. There used to be other sounds; the chatter of people trading in the Hob. Most people kept their heads down on the ordinary streets, but every once in a while there were strains of conversations. The clang of machinery from down in the mines. Shopkeepers selling their wares. There was always something.
Now there's nothing but the occasional whistle of the wind.
no subject
I killed you. And you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm- it's not enough, though. It's never going to be enough.
"Gale," I'm sure he'll be able to hear me. Everything seems louder in the complete stillness of 12. There used to be other sounds; the chatter of people trading in the Hob. Most people kept their heads down on the ordinary streets, but every once in a while there were strains of conversations. The clang of machinery from down in the mines. Shopkeepers selling their wares. There was always something.
Now there's nothing but the occasional whistle of the wind.