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Katniss –
If you're reading this, which I suspect you are, I want you to know how very proud I am of you. You've either won the games for the second time, or the rebels were able to get you out of the arena. Whatever the case may be, you're alive, which is all I could ever hope for. As you know, I've been captured and I'm being held by Snow; I believe the day is coming when my interrogators realize I won't be cooperating with the Capitol, meaning my death is inevitable. My hope is that someone on our side will find this sketchbook, and make sure it reaches your hands. I want you to know that it was an absolute pleasure to know you; you're a beautiful young lady, with so much potential. I wish you nothing but the absolute best, in all of your endeavors. I believe with all of my heart that it's you that can finally end Snow's rule over Panem. I want you to remember to keep your chin up, no matter how much you feel like giving up. I wish I could be there to see the difference you can bring into our world, but I can only imagine as I'm leaving it. I know you're going to do good things, Girl on Fire. And don't forget, I will always be betting on you.
Love, Cinna
Tears streamed from my eyes as I reread the letter, running my fingers down the yellowing page. This was it, the last thing Cinna had ever written. How appropriate that it should be in his sketchpad – the one possession he owned that I knew meant the world to him. It had been this one sheet of paper that had helped me to keep going, while the rebels made their way to the Capitol to dethrone Snow. I still can't heal the hole in my heart caused by poor Cinna's death. In a way, it was my fault – he was maimed and tortured because Snow and the Capitol knew how much he meant to me. They sought out anyone who had any significance in my life, and tried to break me by using them. Here I am now, completely broken. Not only did I lose Cinna, I lost my sister, Prim. Finnick was killed, before he even got to meet his son. My mother, Gale, and Haymitch are as good as gone – the first two no longer live in District 12, the latter too drunk to be considered company.
Peeta still isn't the same as before the Capitol got him, yet he's the sanest one here. It's him who's been comforting me, even though it should be the other way around. Both my doctor and Peeta suggested that I write letters to those who were taken from me, as a sort of therapy. They said that it could help me to feel better, to tie up the loose ends. But what they don't realize is I don't feel anymore. And there's no such thing as better.
There's chapter one! :) It didn't take me too long to write this, and I've already got some ideas for the next chapter. It'll be quite a bit longer, and a little more upbeat, hopefully. As for now, what do you think? Take a second and review, please!