notes: this is a freeverse—oc characters, correspondences between each other from the girl's side; oh, and it's supposed to be lowercase letters

warnings: character death, vagueness, spag errors

the world was on fire, and you were not there

to save me, as you had promised years before;

do you remember the pacts we made underneath the moonlight,

with the crashing waves our reflection of destruction, a warning of what was to come—

the world was on fire, and you were not there; and that is for the best,

because it is not your duty to save me

(i wish it was)

you will have a good life, something carved out of a fairytale with a happily-ever-after,

marrying a girl from district two, blonde hair and blue eyes

(i do not know when blonde hair and blue eyes became the model for perfection however)

but it is perfection, and that is all that is important,

and i wish you the best

(i am not the best; you deserve more than me)

you will have a wonderful life, not with me, but you will have a wonderful life

and that is for the best

our story started off happy enough—

(most stories often do)

swinging beneath the always monotone sky

subtle smiles sent across the paved sidewalks outside church

words falling out of place, between two points

the point of nonexistence and the point of oblivion

and i ask you to jump: to jump between these points, grasp onto my arm

and you jump, and you are on the edge of infinity, and fall into my bloodstream

and our story continues to be something of happiness,

for now.

you left kisses like paintstrokes on my open-heart canvas,

painted a masterpiece of pain and joy

and it was something of the golden ages, i swear it was

but i could not bring myself to care, because it was not meant to be

you were a boy from the seam, i was a girl from upper parts of town—

and love does not triumph all

mother died, father is nowhere to be seen: i'm leaving

i might never see you again; i will never see you again

that is for the best, tell yourself that

but i will come back one day

and maybe it will be too late; maybe you will be married with children and happy

or maybe you will be married with children and dead inside

or maybe there will be a second chance

maybe not.

i sit upon the hilltops of snow and wonder where you are these days,

i have taken upon the journey of solitude, traveling the world with myself—

hello my dear, i write to you

and scratch it up, throw that piece of paper into the wilderness

the mouth of the jungle swallows it up, and it is a wonderful type of world out there

hello, i write to you, you should come out here

it is so wonderful today—everything is so beautiful

and it is, darling, the world outside panem exists and it is real

with the absence of peacekeepers and cameras, the freedom of feet upon the bare of snow

there is something of exhilaration and thrill, and perhaps, i will be caught eventually,

and brought back in chains

paraded through the streets like an enemy of the public—but what is crime?

it is not important what is the truth, but what president snow conceives it to be

it gets a bit lonely, i write to you after three months

three months is nothing at all with the longevity of a human life, but i am nothing more than a child

and a child in panem has a lifespan of very low probability—

most are swallowed up by mother famine; for we do not believe in mother earth

we are not impoverished souls, clinging onto the edge of survival, not from district two

but we are greedy; we want more, and more, and more

and there is no stopping point

and perhaps that is what has corrupted our society, i write to you

you're different—you should come out here more often

it would be less lonely with you.

there are planets far away from here—

there is an entire universe, a place of madness

for you, my love, you will grow up to be a doctor or a scientist or a politician,

a pawn of the capitol, but that is not who you are meant to be

you will go to school, continue going to school for so many years in a row, and for a piece of paper

(it's the most important piece of paper, you would tell me, childish fool that you have turned into)

but who decides significance in the world? tell me that and i shall grant you with all the wishes a mortal wishes to be bestowed

there is a world away from panem and i have discovered it

there is a place where you can just run around in, feel the harsh wind and your lungs caving in

and there is a moment where you feel as though you can't do it anymore,

that your lungs are going to break and your heart will explode into a frenzy of bloodstreams:

but that is not the case

for you will have a burst of energy, as i have many times before

and the monotone skies will have color oncemore

i stand at the edge of a stairway; no light, no light

there is no light and there is only oblivion and i am afraid

i do not understand you—boy without any fear; you took the jump

the jump of madness and where are you now? i fear you have gone insane

have they put you in an asylum

but perhaps you are intelligent and smart and then they must have put you in an asylum, for sure

they'll be giving you brightly colored pills, but you must not listen to them

for you are intelligent, and lovely, and bright, and handsome

and they will tell you that you are everything that you are not because they fear of you

they fear of people like you, people like me—people with knowledge of the world

there is something greater than panem, but the people do not know that

i hear them cheering in the streets; panem yesterday, panem today, panem forever

but what do they know of forever?

are they gods to declare that they will be great forever?

for there was diocletian and constantine and kublai khan and monsters of the past, and they declared that they would be forever—

but nothing can be forever, my love, that is the curse of the human race

and i hope you find that out,

before it is too late.

you've stopped writing to me.

i wonder if they have intercepted our letters. do not lose hope,

do not lose hope, even in the darkest of times—remember the light

in the dark of the room, and search for the moon rising in the shadows;

you will hear the howl of the direwolves and your mother, brave little woman, will tell you to go inside

and you will find her body torn apart in the morning,

and that is the way life has turned out to be, and you must run away.

district two is not a place of safety anymore—

i fear for your life.

i should have been fearing for mine.

immortality does not last forever, perhaps i was right

perhaps i was not

(i fall deeper into oblivion, falling slowly—

—but the world spins madly on)

my death is among a million others and goes by,

unnoticed.