the untold tale (A Gale Hawthorne story)

CHAPTER 15

By the time I reach our rendezvous point, the ledge overlooking the valley, I'm dripping with sweat. I'm barely able to stand. It's a miracle I reached so far.

Twelve hours of working in the mines has left my body stiff and sore. I lean against the rocks. The sun has dipped to touch the edge of the horizon. It's a massive glowing ball of orange and red, illuminating the valley a metallic gold.

If only she was here to see this beautiful sight.

The ledge is too wide without her body next to mine. It's only been two days, but the world seems to be devoid of freedom and happiness. She made hunting a less arduous work. She made hunting fun.

Hmph

I pick a few blueberries. I toss them into my mouth and gobble them down. The single steamed sweet potato they gave for lunch was barely enough. My stomach was grumbling within the next two hours of work.

Our wages were just enough to buy three kilos(6.61 pounds) of Tesserae grain. Arguing with Davis was of no avail. "Consider yourselves lucky, I never pay newbies on their first week of work," he sneered.

I was planning to go home and sleep, but I couldn't help stopping by to check my snares. Too many years of hunting I guess. I was rewarded with two fine rabbits and a squirrel. Then I decided to make my way to the ledge, for old times sake.

I wonder what Catnip's doing right now. What did she do during today's training? Two more days and she'll be presenting herself to the Gamemakers. 

UGH. Even thinking about those barbarians makes me want to puke. Do those bastards even pity the children who die for their entertainment?

No, they don't see us as human beings. We're just living tools that do their work and are disposed of when we become useless. The thought sickens me. My left temple starts pounding.

I start whistling to distract myself. It's an old song which my father used to sing for me when I was young.

The cool morning haze                                                                                                                                                  

So pure and fresh  

Hiding the sorrowful fate of a thousand fireflies                                                                                                

But my dear darling, don't you ever forget                                                                                                              

The world is cruel but also beautiful.

(It's my first poem. It's a pretty sappy poem please excuse me😅😅)

A small smile creeps into my face. Pops wasn't a good singer.

My whistles are returned, rendered into different versions.

The Mockingjays.

I was surprised. Those birds never respond to me. Only to Katniss. Sometimes she whistles a song or two and the Mockingjays rush for her.

I've never heard her sing. The people in the Hob say that she ad her father had beautiful voices. How they brought cheer to their dull lives.

But everything changed when she lost her father.

I should have asked her to sing for me. But I highly doubt she would have. Still, It would have been nice to hear her sing. But now it's too late. She's gone.

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