I've found the hardest thing to do lately is waking up.
Every morning I roll over, expecting my sister to be laying on the bed next to me. Every morning I stretch out my arms to wrap them around her sleeping body. When there's nothing there but the cold mattress, it's as if I've transitioned from a good dream to the most terrifying nightmare imaginable.
Only it's not a nightmare, I remind myself, this is as real as life gets.
When Katniss was here with us, if a horrific vision crept its way into my slumber, I'd crawl into bed with my mother.
Now that she's gone, I can't bear to leave in incredulous hope that she may have returned by the time I wake, and if I left, I'd have missed her.
Buttercup, my cat, mews hungrily from the windowsill.
"I don't have anything for you today," I tell him with a croaky voice and a heavy heart.
I can't afford to feed Buttercup anything more than absolutely necessary, and I watched him dine on a rat just yesterday, so he should be okay for now.
Gale Hawthorne has been bringing my mother and I just enough food so that we don't become part of the statistic that are District 12's citizens fallen victim to starvation. Although we are on the border of emaciation.
If it weren't for Peeta Mellark's father leaving scraps of baked goods at our doorstep every so often, I'm sure we'd have withered away months ago.
There's a gentle knocking on the door. I drag myself to the window and see that it's just Mrs. Hawthorne.
"Good morning, Hazelle," my mother greets bleakly, having pulled open the door.
"I brought you and Primrose some catfish stew. I know you'll be getting a ton of food today, but Gale just took Rory to the pond yesterday to go fishing, and, well, we've got so much fish in the house right now that we could gorge ourselves for the next few days and still have half left over."
I wander from the bedroom and watch my mother accept the pot of stew graciously, setting it down on the table.
"Thank you," she says.
But something strikes me- we'll be getting a ton of food today?
Oh.
I'd just about forgotten that today is the first day of the Victory Tour.
-
I pull on my skirt and blouse. The same outfit I wore to the reaping six months ago. Except there's snow on the ground this time of year, so I top it with a sweater that doesn't match too well.
Six whole months.
Last year, the outfit hung loose on my body. Now it's a bit more snug. Hazelle has told me that I'd gotten my growth spurt quite some time before Katniss did. At my age, Hazelle had said with glassy eyes, Katniss was inches shorter, and her chest was flat as a board. I wonder what my sister would say if she could see me now.
I feel hands smoothing down the back of my blouse and I gasp, jumping backward slightly into what I realize are my mother's arms.
"It's just me," she says, and I can tell by the sad smile she gives that she knows I felt Katniss' hands tucking in the shirt at first.
It's not until you've lost someone that you fully come to terms with just how many aspects of your life they'd once occupied.
"We're to be in the square at two," she tells me, and I nod.
At a quarter to then, the Hawthornes arrive at our house, and the seven of us dreadfully make our way to the Justice Building.
Hazelle holds my mother's shaky hand and murmurs things like, "I want you to be ready for this. Now, you remember last year, right? And the year before that? You know how this will go. Stay strong."
