I wanted to write a story between the last chapter of Mockingjay and the epilogue. This is how Katniss' life evolves in my mind.

Everywhere I look, all I see is flames. All I feel is heat and all I hear his Prim. Begging for me to get to her before the fire does. I run through the fire, not caring if I burn every inch of flesh off my body. As long as I can save her. As long as I can keep my precious Prim alive.

But like always, I'm too late. I'm watching Prim's body go up in flames and my nightmare ends. Not before Prim says, "Why didn't you protect me, Katniss?"

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm seventeen years old. I won the Hunger Games. I was in the Quarter Quell. I went to District 13. I became the Mocking Jay. I killed Coin. Snow is dead. Gale is in District 2. Peeta is no longer the boy with the bread. Prim is dead…

My nails are digging into my sweaty sheets as I gasp for air, eyes stinging with anger and fear. I close them and try to collect myself, but all I see is Prim's face turning to ash. I open them immediately and sit up straight, fearing that body will give into its fatigue. And I can't afford that.

I look out the window, at the horizon becoming clearer as the sun rises. A few years ago, I'd be welcoming a day as fresh as this. Today I dread it, knowing it will only remind me of all the memories I don't feel like replaying.

"Today will be better, Katniss," I whisper to myself, holding my arms to my stomach. I know this isn't true.

I sit like this until I hear Greasy Sae open the door. Now I know its time to get out of bed and continue on with my day. The shower is steaming hot by the time I get into it. I hear Greasy Sae yelling at her granddaughter not to hold Buttercup by his tail. On a different day, along time ago, this would have made me laugh. But today, it reminds me of how Prim scolded me for trying to burn off one of Buttercup's ear.

Greasy Sae only comes here in the morning now to make sure I'm up and have breakfast. She cleans up a little bit, makes me some tea and cookies, and then carries on with her day. Occasionally, I'll have breakfast with her granddaughter or drop off some rabbits for her at her new little house the people of District 12 have recently built. (Greasy Sae told me they started making little houses around the old square now. Its reassuring to know other people are getting on with their lives, that they are growing from the rebellion, while others remain broken).

When I showered and dressed for the day, I go downstairs and see Furn, Greasy Sae's granddaughter, stepping on Buttercup's tail as she eats. I feel my lips tug a bit at the ends. Not enough to smile though.

"There's some bread on the table, with some hot chocolate," Greasy Sae says, as she folds some of the blankets that I left on the couch.

I lift the bread to my nose and smell it, letting the warm aroma seep in. Cheese buns. Who made them? But before I can ask the question aloud, Furn already perks up.

"Peeta started making bread again," she grumbles, with her own buns in her mouth. "And he learned how to make this drink too!" She takes a sip of the hot chocolate.

I already knew the answer before she said anything. Anger flashes quickly through me. The last time I saw him he was planting primroses outside my house. That was four months ago. I appreciate that, but he left me alone, to think, to grieve, to never get better.

I automatically get angry with myself for thinking that. Peeta owes me nothing. I owe him my life. He doesn't need me; he needs to repair himself. The Capitol destroyed whatever Peeta felt for me and I need to accept it. I can't get angry at the old Peeta for not visiting me or being with me because he will never be all there anymore. Peeta doesn't want me and if that helps him get better, than I can at least do that much for him.

I don't know why I feel a hole widening in my heart as I think this. Maybe its because I'm hungry.

"Well, I'm sure this is a big hit around town then!" I finally say and take my own mug and drink. Furn smiles and eagerly chugs hers down.

Furn always enjoys when I'm in a bearable state. It has been six months since the rebellion and my shell of solitary slowing chipped off. I was a mess when I first got back. Sometimes I still want to crawl in bed and just stay there till I whiter away to nothing. That's how it feels most days. But when I'm around Furn, I need to be strong. I need to show her I'm okay. Maybe its my way of showing Greasy Sae my appreciation of her by making her granddaughter smile or because her big, bright blue eyes remind me so much of Prim…

"Furn, finish your breakfast. Grandma needs to get to work on time today," Greasy Sae tells Furn. Sae turns to me, "Are you going to do anything special today?"

I open my mouth to say nothing, but then I think for a moment. I have only been to the woods once since I got home and that was for the burial service they had for all those who died in the District 12 bombing. I'm not in the mood to look into the fireplace and see all the faces of the people who are dead. Because of me.

"Maybe I'll go hunting," I say, biting into a cheese bun. They are better than I could remember.

"That sounds good; get some fresh air," Greasy Sae says, quietly. However, her face reads relief and happiness. I haven't been out of the house in weeks. She slowing thinks I'm recooperating. I don't want to make anyone miserable anymore, but my eternal torment will never fade.

Greasy Sae and Furn leave, but not before Furn has a chance to trip Buttercup on her way out. I close the door behind them and prepare myself, mentally and physically, for a day out in the woods. By the time I get my dad's leather jacket and my bow and sheath, its almost ten o'clock. The woods should be full with rabbits, dear, and plenty more animals by now.

As I walk out my front door, I take in Victor Village. A home of champions, a home of victors, a home of the broken. Its quiet and everything from the silent houses to the gravel roads scream sadness, despite the warm weather.

I look a Haymitch's house and remember my old mentor. Last time I saw him was 2 weeks ago, when the train that brought his liquor broke down and he was going through withdrawals. He passed out on the couch and me and Greasy Sae took turns feeding him and urging him to take baths. Sae tells me that he has sobered up and is taking care of some geese. I'll believe it when I see it.

I turn my head slowly to the house that has the sent of warm pastries coming from the open windows. Furn was right. Peeta has started to bake again. Peeta has started to come to life again. My heart skips a beat.

I chastise myself again for thinking that Peeta will accept me, as even a friend, ever again. My boy with the bread is gone.

I walk fast, away from Victor Village, away from the last surviving people I care about, away from the sent of Peeta. As soon as I know it, I'm running, running as fast as I can to the square. I slow down when I see the square coming up and walk through it, to see what has happened since the last time I was out.

People are walking through the square, carrying their bundles. Others are on their way to work, building new houses, cleaning up rubble, going to the mines. From my sources, a.k.a Greasy Sae, they created new machines to make the mines safer. She also said there's rumors going around that they might be building a new hospital.

"Maybe my mother will come back." I mumbled to myself. She's not coming back.

I see familiar faces, saying hello, asking me how I am. I try my best to be nice and polite, but I was never a good liar. One statement really makes me go off course.

"I'm sorry about Prim. She was always so sweet. She didn't deserve it," one man, who use to be friends with my father, said. Everyone in ear-shot turns around to look at me. I feel something dark in my chest and my eyes narrow at the man. Its been over six months since Prim has gone up in flames and now people are trying to console me?

"No, she didn't deserve it. No one who died deserved it. No one deserved to watch their little sister be turned to ash right in front of them and be able to do nothing about it. No one knows what the rebellion was about. No one knows what the Capitol really did to us. No one knows what the Hunger Games did to us." I'm yelling by the time I finish the last sentence and I'm sure the whole square is staring at me now.

I don't have time to see the man's expression before I turn full speed towards the woods.

When I get to the woods, I start shooting everything that moves. I jump, roll, dive, climb; anything that will keep my mind off what happened in the square and Prim.

As I skin one of the squirrels I shot, I begin to think I would much rather prefer the numbness than this. Than having to live, than having to survive.

I hear my stomach growl but I ignore it. Its getting later, probably close to four thirty. I look through my game bag, filled with squirrel, rabbits, and a wild turkey. I try to think if there's any other way to get home without going through the square. I come up blank and sigh. Looks like I'm going to have face the embarrassment of my outburst.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and start to walk. I realize now how tired I am and how sore I'm going to be tomorrow. This is probably the most exercise I got since the rebellion.

The square is quieter, to my relief. There's still some people here and there, but none of them approach me.

Too scared I might have a mental breakdown, I think.

I start getting paranoid when an elderly couple starts eyeing me and whispering to each other. So I pick up my pace to a light jog.

"That poor girl. Her sister's death really took the song right out of the Mockingjay," the old lady whispers to her husband.

"Its really sad. I guess Peeta and her never got back together." A young man tells his friend.

"I wonder how Prim died." A man from the mine tells a young girl.

"They never found the body," she whispers back.

My eyes sting as I begin to run from the voices in the square. I need to get away from them, from everything painful. I hear my feet hitting the gravel, but I don't slow down, not until-

I hit someone hard and fly back, hitting my head against the small rocks. My game goes everywhere, squirrels and rabbits all over.

"I'm so sorry!" I hear a familiar voice say. "I'll help you, miss. Let me get that."

I don't look at the person. I don't care who is it. I quickly try to shove everything I can in my bag. I go to grab that last squirrel before I bolt, and a warm hand goes to grab it at the same time.

His hand falls on top of mine. My eyes travel up his arm, looking at the strong muscles protruding out of his skin. His defined shoulder comes next, prominent under his t-shirt. His face, the face I missed so much. (Its gotten fuller since the last time I saw him.) And last his blue eyes, which bore into mine already. My mouth falls open a little.

"Squirrels… my favorite? Real or not real?"

"Peeta?"

Thank you for reading!