THE END, by Katniss

District 12 has been destroyed. So has District 11. And 10 come to think of it. Actually, the whole of Panem has been destroyed. The Capitol sensed war from the rebellion so destroyed everything there could. Everybody who survived ran to District 13 where they live underground. So that's where I am now.

But here's the catch: the people who run this whole refuge thing have split us all into District categories. They think that people from other Districts won't mix well. So they separate us. So if you're from District 10, you can't see anyone from 11, and so on. Fine by me, since I'm from 12. But I'm not. They say that, because I was rescued from District 1, I have to stay with all these snobbish District 1 people who I don't know.

Except I'm don't. I don't actually see them. Because I'm the mockingjay. I'm special. I started the rebellion. I'm Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire. District 13 is a dangerous place; they can't let anything happen to me. That's one theory. There are others, but I prefer not to think about those.

So I'm 'kept' here. Away from Danger. Away from the rest of the world. Alone in a room in the quarters of District 1. I get food. I am given the news. But I'm not allowed to see anyone. I can't see my family. I can't see Gale. I can't see anyone that means anything to me. I've never thought that life could be so painfully lonely.

I hope, all the same, that the Capitol will not find us here. Who knows what will happen then.

Luckily, I know my family are still alive. The Refuge Keepers promised to inform me if anything happens to anything or anyone. To keep me up to date with everything Outside. I'd still rather be there, I tell them. I tell them that I've been through enough, I'm sure I can handle it. But they just shake their heads and walk away, looking guilty and frightened.

I know what's happening out there.

The Refuge Keepers told me that everybody's living happily in houses and working like normal and that everything's fine. They say I have to stay alone because the Capitol is still searching for me.

But I saw it when I came in. I see all the work that goes on. All the Hardships. Every District continues with its old work, but not for the Capitol. For every other District. This means a lot of work. I know that somewhere out there, Gale is digging hard for coal. Aching all over and covered in sweat. Pushing heavy wagons up and down. And I'm here, sitting in a chair, wondering what we're going to do, but doing absolutely nothing.

I hear the grey door creak open and two Refuge Keepers walk in. Both male, both middle aged and grey, like everything else here. Dull, grey and boring. They set a plain meal before me and hand me a small envelope, their face unfathomable. I finger the envelope: it's quite thick.

They leave silently and I watch them with bored eyes on a bored, grey face. I try to remember what it was like to have such extreme feelings of joy, grief and terror only a few months back. Now everything here that I'm allowed to see is bland and lifeless.

I slide my finger underneath the envelope seal and prise it open. I strain my mind to work out what I am feeling so I can display it on my face but find nothing so remain grey. I take out the note and unfold it.

I scan my eyes down it. Slowly, taking a lot of time over each word, glad to have something to do. But as each word sinks in at the beginning of the letter, my shoulders become tense and my lip trembles, deciding whether to laugh or cry. I forget to breathe for a moment. I close my eyes for a moment, relaxing but oddly flooded with joy and confusion. I continue reading, my eyes flickering from line to line. A new message comes and I become tense once again, but a different feeling is flooding through me, which takes me a moment to identify. I bite my lip and shut my eyes and take everything in. Or try to. Two facts in one day. Two new things. Both terrible and amazing, but in such different ways. There are so many explanations leading up to each one. And so many possibilities that branch out before them. I tell myself to stand up and collapse on my grey bed, but my legs have become lead and I am forced to remain seated.

I am unsure how to take it all. I try closing my eyes and turning it over. I try forcing tears. I try smiling. I try weeping. I try sobbing. But there is too much grief in this message and tears feel stale and a poor reaction. They are not enough for what I feel.