It's hard to breathe.
I can't go on.
I can't cope.
The messenger backs away. If I had the ability to feel sorry for anyone else I might have pitied him, that he was the one they'd chosen to deliver this news to me. But he has none of my sympathy for I have none to spare.
He looks scared. I can't blame him. I imagine I have turned as white as paper and I can feel my hand shaking violently. He's the person that has to watch my world crash to the floor.
Now I'm alone and I make no effort to hide my feelings. I cry, my whole body trembling with the grief that is threatening to tear my soul in half. I haven't felt like this in five years. I haven't felt like this since the siren announcing the explosion in the mines went off...
I don't know how long I've been here for now. I'm finding it hard to function. Each time I get close to even vaguely pulling myself together, a new wave of heartbreak hits me and breaks me back down.
No one comes to check on me. They must have decided to leave me to cry myself out. That's probably wise. I wouldn't go near someone if it was somebody else in my shoes.
But it's me in my shoes. No one else can take my place although, as selfish and horrible as it sounds, I would love for someone to be able to.
I'm slipping again. Slipping into my sorrows. My head tells me that I have to be strong now, for Katniss. She'll need me and I can't abandon her now. Not again.
My head still can't wrap around the truth though because it can't be true. If it's true then I will have lost another that I love so dearly.
My daughter is dead.