ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 15

Madge

"I have to ask you, do you really trust the people you work for now? What good will come of this war? What will it do to our nation, our people? Think about it, Katniss..."

As Peeta delivers his scripted bargain to the nation, I hear Gale shuffling about my quarters in restless agitation behind me.

Both of us know that they are purposely harming him in order to keep chiseling away at Katniss. Both of us know that spending our time waiting and watching as Peeta Mellark's coughs rack his shrunken body is helping neither of us think straight. Both of us know that we are not allowed to show Katniss these interviews, despite how desperately she needs to see them.

I shut off my television abruptly, no longer able to bear viewing the shell of Peeta anymore. I whir around to face Gale, whose face still remains contorted in horror. Despite the animosity Gale harbors toward Peeta, the evident abuse Peeta has been going through is enough to shake even those who stand tallest in their shoes. If the Capitol wanted to ignite a reaction from District Thirteen that was just as emotionally draining as Thirteen's propo was, it has succeeded, and grabbed the upper hand in the process.

"They're hurting him," I say, stating the very obvious. Gale nods.

"Badly," he adds. "Thankfully, Coin's keeping Katniss away from watching these. If she sees how sick he is..."

"...She will break," I finish for him. Gale bobs his head, swallows hard, and continues to pace around once more.

"Well, the good news is that he is alive."

"The bad news is that it's only going to get worse for him," I reply.

"The good news is that Katniss won't know anything."

During particularly difficult nights while watching the Hunger Games together, Gale and I would make up our own damage report through a game of our own, called "Good News and Bad News". It assessed the pros and cons of our friends' situations, and it also helped us openly sort out our own feelings concerning the day's events. We have continued to play this game more than ever in Thirteen. Oftentimes, we are left floundering for a scrap of salvation to counter the influx of terror that has been brought about by the war. The bad news almost always surpasses the good news in quantity nowadays. Good news-genuinely good news, not the synthetic news Gale and I often try to pass as 'good'-is hard to come by here.

Coin method of approach to the situation is to shroud Katniss in unknowingness. If Katniss so much as catches a glance at Peeta's current state, Coin believes that she will spiral into a state of her own that is by no means capable of carrying a revolution. Her image of the Mockingjay will crumple, along with Coin's revolution.

I swore I felt Coin's cold, empty eyes land on me when she told the room of those closest to Katniss to keep her away from the impending interviews just yesterday.

I bite the inside of my cheek and absentmindedly fiddle with my communicuff as I ponder this complicated predicament I find myself in. There is something morally corrupt with keeping Katniss out of the loop. It is almost as wrong as no one making any grand attempts at running onto Capitol rooftops to save Peeta, Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta, and even Enobaria.

Gale sits on the edge of my bed, running his large hands over his tired face. Although he says he is grateful for Coin's abrasive tactic of keeping Katniss away from the image of Peeta, he certainly does not seem grateful to have to withhold information from his best friend, either.

His communicuff jangles against his knees as he continues to nervously quiver and shake his legs, most likely replaying Peeta's interview in his mind. I stare down at my own accessory in disgust. We have them for a reason, so why have neither of us thought to use them?