Mockingjay Part 3. Rekindled Flame

Grief

Days go by and I don't really see or talk to Peeta. We're not avoiding each other, but I don't go out of my way to see him and I guess he doesn't feel like hanging out with me. The dinner that I had planned never really happened. Probably my fault since I didn't reach out to them, but once I was left alone to the house, I didn't feel like doing much of anything. I resigned myself to my room mostly, allowing the thoughts that plague my mind daily to drown me. 

Yesterday I visited Prim's room. Not the best idea on my part; emotional suicide, really. Before yesterday, I avoided her room at all costs. I kept the door shut tightly, trapping whatever sadness that lingered from her tragic passing locked deep inside. 

I had gone to the bathroom after sleeping most of the day, which is located right across from her room. When I came out, the door seemed to loom over me, like it was disappointed with me for not visiting since I had come home. Maybe I was going stir crazy or just completely mental; I was personifying a door after all. But the shame that the stupid door pushed onto me was suffocating. I had done nothing to honor my sister since her death, except have enough good graces to keep her cat in the house. Peeta had done more with planting the Primroses outside than I had done, and she was my sister. I knew that if the roles were reversed, and I had been the one to have been blown up in front of her eyes, she would have a memorial for me and probably sleep in my room surrounded my belongings. And here I am, pushing her out of my mind as if she was an acquaintance that was a victim of war instead of the one person in this entire world that I knew I could trust and love. 

I opened the door ever so slowly and was slammed with her lingering smell of lavender and herbs mixed with the musty scent of a room that had been sealed shut for months. I clutched the wall as my head spun in circles. I wanted to sprint out of that room and never go in again. What was I thinking? Feelings are much safer when they are safely locked away in a neat room, never to be opened and looked at. 

However, I stayed clutching the wall for dear life until I could breathe normally again and the room stopped spinning. The room was exactly how she had left it before she was dragged out of it by Gale when the firebombs struck District 12. Dead marigolds sat in her window which she had once watered faithfully. A book rested on her nightstand, dogeared where she last put it down. Maybe she had put it down when the last airing of the games came on in the living room and she had came out to watch as I let an arrow explode in the arena, setting in motion her very demise. Who am I kidding? When I pulled those berries out, I should have known she was doomed. 

Perhaps the thing that had solidified my reasoning that going into that room was a bad idea was the journal that still laid open on her bed which she had been writing in the day she was forced to leave. 

I felt like I was invading her privacy when I picked up the tattered, pink, leather journal, but she would never be there to swipe it from my hands. She would never be there to ever know I had been there at all. She died not knowing if I had survived the blast that took her, or if the rebellion was a success. 

Her neat and cursive handwriting curled over the pages so elegantly that I knew that no one else could have written those words. Her handwriting was as gentle and beautiful as she was. 

'July 14

Katniss shot an arrow into the arena that was laced with wire. It lit up as the lightning hit it, blowing out the screens. I don't know if anyone is alive, but I doubt she is. The last thing we saw before the screen went black was Katniss getting blown backward from the shock. Mom screamed so loud that Buttercup went skidding out of the room at full-speed. Then she started weeping and saying 'she's dead! Katniss is dead!' 

I comforted her and led her to her room to lay down for awhile. I didn't cry until I got to my room. I can't imagine life without Katniss. I knew that her chances of winning the games again were slim, but there were only 6 people left, and she was so smart. I would give anything to hug her right now. I just want to know if she's alive. Katniss is the only one in this entire world that makes me feel safe. How am I ever going to be able to feel safe again without her?