It's not just the memories that haunt District 12, it's the ghosts too.

It's night time, always night time. Everyone is in their houses, locked up, bundled up and safe. Safe in their homes.

Our hands are pale, pale and pasty. Sometimes they turn clear, like glass. I only look at their hands now. It hurts to look anywhere else.

But they all look at me, they glance at me, they look away. I can never look back at them.

It's easier to look at their hands anyways. Because the hands are always reaching and grabbing. Desperately grasping anything they can, trying to grab onto something that resembles their old life. Before everything was burned. Before we were left to eternally wander.

We find ourselves knocking on windows, more often than not. We knock, we bang, we throw rocks that never shatter anything. It's useless, it's futile.

Whether we like it or not, we always end up at her window. Sometimes she looks out. I like to think she can hear us, she can hear our voices, our cries and bangs. She never does anything though, never. She observes silently, unbundled like the rest.

I guess it's fair, though. She ignores, and we forget. We forget their names. I know I knew her, but I can't remember it now. It was a long, long time ago. It's fair, I suppose.

I sit on her lawn anyways, the lawn of her nice, perfect house (on the outside, at least. We all hear the cries at night, when she thinks no one is listening). One of the few houses, pathetically small number of houses that survived. Survived what we didn't. Something that survived from what was.

Maybe that's why we come here. Maybe it's because it's something. Something from our time. Maybe it's because of the girl.

Eventually dawn comes. We stop scratching and clawing at windows. We walk down the paths, the old, coal worn paths and make our way to the meadow.

I sit on my patch of dandelions. I avoid the others. I think maybe there's a reason I avoid their eyes. Because I don't want to remember. I want to forget all of their names. I want to look in windows and nothing else. Because what else is there to do, when you're dead?

If you're wondering about the cover, my friend always makes my covers for me, so I jokingly sent that to her. I didn't think she'd actually do it, but she did and I had to use it because it's funny.

[7:10:27 PM] Llama: i love you
[7:10:31 PM] Llama: i can't believe you're gonna use that
[7:11:20 PM] Empty Thoughts: i shall
[7:11:27 PM] Empty Thoughts: HUNGER GAMES FANDOM FEAR ME

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