Depressed: A Hunger Games Story

Chapter 1: Katniss's Perspective

"Katniss? Peeta's here to see you," Katniss's mother said after knocking lightly on her bedroom door.

Katniss didn't want to see Peeta. She didn't want to see anyone right now. It was all she could do at the moment not to scream or burst into tears at the lightest trigger of a memory. It didn't matter what she thought about – even her happiest memories managed to turn dark, the thought of Peeta bought to mind how he suffered under the Capitol's imprisonment, the thought of her mother outside the bedroom door bought back memories from when she and Prim were children and they stood outside their mother's room and did the same thing, begging her to come out after her father's death. Prim. Her little sister. The little girl she'd volunteered to protect from the Capitol's torture, only for her to be killed anyway...

She felt the wave of tears come and slide down her cheeks and join the puddle of water already on her pillow from previous breakdowns. Katniss made no attempt to wipe them away. She'd stopped eating and drinking for the last three days, yet her body still managed to find water to spare to make tears. She hadn't moved, hadn't slept, hadn't done anything at all except cry and scream at the relentless waves of horrifying memories that refused to leave her alone.

The door was locked on the inside and she'd pushed all the furniture except her bed up against it to make a barricade. The curtains were drawn but the light coming from them suggested it was midday. Sunlight. That still existed?

Sunlight made things look pretty. That was wrong. Her sister was dead. She was a murderer. Innocent lives had been lost thanks to her. There shouldn't be any beauty in the world. Everything should be grey and lifeless.

Her mother couldn't come in if she wanted. Katniss couldn't leave unless she wanted to. And she didn't. Out there was for other people. What was the point of going anywhere if she was always going to be trapped in her own mind?

"Shall I tell him you don't want to see him?" her mother asked, sounding a mixture of disappointed and concerned. "You should come out soon you know. People still care about you, Katniss."

Katniss remained silent. The steady waterfall of tears from her eyes continued to fall and soak her pillow. She curled into the tightest ball she could, drawing her limbs into the foetal position. It hurt her muscles to move for the first time in two days since she'd laid down there. Good. Let it hurt. That was nothing compared to her emotional pain.

Her mother's footsteps started and faded away. She must have grown used to Katniss's silence because she never probed her to answer. Not anymore anyway. On the first day she hadn't left her door and wouldn't stop speaking to her – either to comfort her, to ask if she wanted anything, to convince her to come out. None of it worked. She only left her alone now because it caused Katniss to start screaming at the memory triggers.

Right now Katniss was too numb to scream. But she never had a rest from the memories. There was no way to escape your own mind. They'd plague her until her death.

Would it even matter if she died here? Apparently the rebellion had left the people of the Districts free and happy, well-fed and cared for. That was her purpose fulfilled. Now there was nothing to do, no one to save, because everyone was safe.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Part of the reason she felt like this. Before she'd always been in danger, running from the Capitol, constantly focusing on survival. Now she had time to think. And thinking wasn't a good thing.

Was that the choice awaiting her? Living in a prison of her own thoughts or dying? Was dying the only way to escape?

No. Even in this state, Katniss wasn't going to give in to death. It would break everyone she had ever loved, and even in death, she'd have to confront those she'd killed, and there were more loved ones dead than alive. Impossible as it might have seemed, life might actually be easier than death at this moment of time. Suicide wasn't the answer.