This story is a different take on when Katniss returns to her house at the end of Mockingjay and was inspired by the song So Cold by Ben Cocks.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games series or the characters. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Ashes
She stood on the doorstep of her house. A shiver ran through her body. The last time she had been here was with her mother and sister, when District 12 had been thriving. But now the entire district apart from the Victor's Village had been destroyed; only the ruins remained, along with a handful of survivors.
She looked over at another house, past the one that belonged to her district partner, at that of her mentor's. She had arrived back with him, Haymitch, her mentor, but he had instantly disappeared into his home, to drink himself into oblivion, she assumed. He had thought it best that she be alone when she entered her house and she was grateful for the unsaid gesture, though at the same time, she wanted him, or someone at least, with her since she was scared as to what she would find when she opened the door. She swallowed and looked back at the door of her house. It was covered in a thick layer of layer of dirt, dust and ash. Her hand gripped the strap of her bag tightly against her shoulder to steady herself as she raised her other shaking hand and placed it on the dirty, grey door handle, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she was filled with fear and trepidation. She swallowed again and bit her lower lip as she slowly turned it, flakes of ash falling to the ground as her hand moved away the dirt, revealing the silver handle beneath, and pushed the door open and took a tentative step inside.
It was cold.
Despite the warmth of the sun, the house was bitterly cold and she resisted the instinctive urge to shiver, goose bumps forming on her arms. She stood in the main room of the house. Everything was covered in a thick layer of grey dust. Ornaments lay shattered on the floor and photographs and pictures had been knocked from their positions, chairs, pans, drawers all on the floor, their contents scattered, by the force of the bombings, she thought. She looked around. Despite it being midday, the room was dull and dark. She dropped her bag to the floor. It landed with a dull thud, sending a small wave of dust through the air.
This wasn't her home.
This cold, dark, unkempt and unloved house wasn't hers. She didn't belong here.
She felt as if she was standing in the house of a stranger. She didn't recognise the main room of her home. Nothing was as she had left it. It was dark, dirty and quiet. Too quiet. No mockingjays singing… no crackling fire… no Lady bleating in the garden… no Prim singing softly… She shook her head, pushing the memories away. No, she wouldn't, couldn't, think about her sister. She couldn't.
She walked over to the fireplace, her shoes, leaving a trail of footprints in the dirt, crunched on the broken debris that littered the floor, the sound echoing, and picked up one of the photographs. She wiped the dust off of the frame as she turned it over. The glass was cracked but the picture of her and her sister was clearly visible.
She felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked at it.
Her sister, so pretty, so perfect. Her long blonde hair tied back in twin plats, her happy smile and the cute little dimples in her cheeks…
She shook her head, trying to push away the threatening tears. This is why she hadn't wanted to come back. She wasn't supposed to be there without them, without her sister. Her sister was supposed to be here and not…
She shook her head again. No. She couldn't remind herself of that. It still hurt too much. Her finger traced along the outline of her sister and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Everything she had done had been for her sister, to protect her, but she had failed. She was alive, while her sister, her pure and innocent sister…
She blinked hard, trying the keep the memories and images at bay. She didn't want to remember. She didn't want to remember those happy memories of her sister. She didn't want to remember what had happened to her sister, to her family, to her friends because of her. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the onslaught of memories from coursing through her mind.
The smile of joy on her sister's face when she brought home her goat…
Sitting in the backyard with her sister as she milked her goat for the first time, Buttercup also watching them…
Plating her sister's hair while they sat in front of small fire…
Holding her sister tight as she cried the night before the Reaping, remembering the comforting words she told her…
A splash of water landed on her sister's face and she felt a wetness trickle down her cheeks. She staggered back, dropping the picture, the sound of the glass smashing echoing. She couldn't breathe. She looked around her, wildly, her head spinning as she saw pictures of her sister fly through her mind, of her sat on the sofa, stroking Buttercup, sitting at the wooden table eating warm bread, making cheese from Lady's milk, laughing when Buttercup did something funny. Her head began to spin. She clutched her head in her hands, gasping for breath. No! She didn't want to remember! She clenched her eyes shut even tighter than before, trying to push away the memories of her sister's smiling face, the sound of her voice…
Her entire body shook as she struggled to keep the memories away. But she couldn't. The onslaught was too much and she fell to her knees, her hands still holding her head as the tears began to spill.
She couldn't stay in this house, in this district. There were too many memories of what she had lost. Her family… her friends… her mother… Gale… Madge… Peeta… Prim…
They were all gone.
And she was all alone.
She clutched her head harder, her nails digging into her scalp as she let out a scream.
It was an agonising scream, full of the pain, anger and sadness that she was feeling.
She just wanted all of it to go away. All of the hurt and all of the pain that she felt, she just wanted it all to be gone.
She continued to scream, clutching at her head. Why wouldn't it go away? The pain, why wouldn't it just end?
She didn't know how long she screamed for, the hurt was just too great for her to comprehend how long it had been, but eventually her screams died into painful, aching sobs. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling chunks of it out of her plat, letting it fall loosely. She curled her body into a ball, her head resting on her knees, her eyes closed, as the tears slowly abated, her breath short and ragged. She longed for her body to calm down. She didn't want someone to walk in and see her in that position, though she figured that the people who had already returned would leave her alone to allow her time to adjust and she wondered if Haymitch had expected this reaction from her and that is why he left her alone.
She lifted her head slowly, pushing her hair out of her face before wiping away her tears. She felt calmer, as if the screaming and crying had helped to drive away some of the unspent feelings that had been building up inside her that she had refused to unleash. She looked around the room. Memories of Prim and of her mother and friends still lingered, but the force of them wasn't as brutal and unrelenting as before. She breathed slowly, allowing her heart to beat at its normal pace again.
After a few more moments, she slowly stood up and walked around the broken pictures and ornaments until she reached the sofa. Ignoring the fact that it, like everything else, was covered in dust, she sank onto it, facing the fireplace. She stared at it. She felt numb. She still couldn't comprehend everything that had happened, it didn't feel real, but being back at her house without her mother or Prim or without Gale and Peeta reminded her that it had all happened. The Hunger Games had happened. The Quarter Quell had happened. The war had happened. The rebellion had happened. Gale was in District Two, her mother in Four; Peeta still in the Capitol and Prim… her sister was still dead.
She let out a staggered sigh as the tears threatened once more. The darkness, coldness and quietness of the house reminded her that she was all alone. Despite everything she had done to ensure their safety and the fact that they had won the war, she was still alone.
She clutched her arms tightly around her as she lay on her side, her eyes not leaving the charred wood in the fireplace. She closed her eyes, longing for a form of comfort, wishing for everything to be the way it was before anything of it had happened. Before the Hunger Games had happened. That was all she wanted, but she knew it would never happen. She had failed in her duty. She had let people down. She had let Prim down and now all that was left of what she had had was this house. Everything that she had ever wanted was gone, had died. No matter how much she wanted things to change, she knew they never would. All she had were her memories and she was determined to hold on to them no matter what.
She had to continue to live and remember.