Somehow It Always Comes Back To Coal

Behind A Rack Of Framed Photos Of Snow, We Encounter A Wounded Peacekeeper Propped Up Against A Strip Of Brick Wall. He Asks Us For Help. Gale Knees Him In The Side Of The Head And Takes His Gun.

To The Everlasting Credit Of The People Of District 12, Not One Person Claps. Not Even The Ones Holding Betting Slips, The Ones Who Are Usually Beyond Caring. Possibly Because They Know Me From The Hob, Or Knew My Father, Or Have Encountered Prim, Who No One Could Help Loving. So Instead Of Acknowledging Applause, I Stand There Unmoving While They Take Part In The Boldest Form Of Dissent They Can Manage. Silence. Which Says We Do Not Agree. We Do Not Condone. All Of This Is Wrong.

Telling A Story In A Futuristic World Gives You This Freedom To Explore Things That Bother You In Contemporary Times.

Its Not In My Nature To Go Down Without A Fight Even When Things Seem Insurmountable

You Would Think After All The Hours I’d Spent With Gale– Watching Him Talk And Laugh And Frown– That I Would Know All There Was To Know About His Lips. But I Hadn’t Imagined How Warm They Would Feel Pressed Against My Own. Or How Those Hands [...] Could Entrap Me… I Vaguely Remember My Fingers, Curled Tightly Closed, Resting On His Chest.