ghosts that we knew: A mockingjay fanfiction

20

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 20

Madge

"Ms. Undersee, you were a resident of District Twelve, correct?"

"Yes."

"Can you give us a little background information about your life in your former District? Occupation? Status?"

"I was the Mayor's daughter. I was also a student. I was in Katniss and Peeta's year, actually."

"Interesting. Now, Ms. Undersee-"

"Please, call me Madge."

"Yes, of course, Madge. Would you mind recounting for us what you experienced the night the bombs hit District Twelve?"

"Well, I had been watching the Quarter Quell. Thread mandated it, but of course, when two of your closest friends are the Tributes representing your District for the second time in a row, a mandate is unnecessary. I fell asleep shortly after the broadcast cut out while the arena was collapsign, and I awoke to the sound of the bombs. I was told to go to the woods, so that is where I ran. I gathered up as many people as I could and ran to the forest, where I met up with Soldier Hawthorne and his group. From there, we led everyone through the forest until the District Thirteen hovercrafts found us."

"How did you feel when District Thirteen rescued you?"

"Relieved, of course. I had very little idea of what I was doing in that forest and leading all of those people, truth be told, and I was just happy that we had managed to get all of those people out alive..."

"And what about your father, the Mayor of District Twelve?"

"...My father is the one who told me to escape to the forest. He stayed behind to continue protecting the District, which, as you can imagine, did not end up well for him and for my mother."

"We're sorry."

I shrug, stifling my grief and keeping my gaze fixated on the blinking red light in the corner of Messalla's camera to keep from crying as memories of my family, amidst the familiar backdrop of my home, flood my mindscape.

"It wouldn't be a war without casualties. He was the Mayor. He was doing his job and guarding his citizens up until the very end of his life," I whisper, trying my best to sound brave. It's what my father would have wanted.

Cressida smiles sweetly and tells me she has just a few more questions to ask me. She makes minimal effort to hide the cue cards which Fulvia Cardew and Plutarch Heavensbee have written out for her to read to me. Katniss and Gale's interviews were much easier and did not require premeditated questions.

Then again, Gale and Katniss are two far more interesting participants in this war than I am.

Heat rises within me as I stare angrily at the cards. Why am I even here, if prompters are needed to drain anything from mundane Madge Undersee? I may wear a communicuff and be a past resident of this wasteland, but my life in District Twelve is nowhere near as fascinating of a cover story as Katniss and Gale's sagas are.

Cressida's cards swish loudly against each other as she shuffles through her pile to find a juicy, emotional question that will certain lead to evoking tears from the prissy merchant girl. If talking about my father was not going to cause me to sob on command, then what hard-hitting question would get the job done?

This is all they want from me, I decide: usable footage of tears coming from the reputable background. My father was the Mayor. My aunt was a Tribute in the Second Quarter Quell. I am what this film crew is left to work with in a long lineage of inspirations that ends at my birth.