Hello guys. I Want to take the time to thanks ALL my reviewers because I am so glad you take the time to tell me what you think about my story. I LOVE each and every one of you because you always manage to put a smile on my face : )

What's done has been done.

What's said has been said.

Christmas is over.

And now I feel dead.

A little rhyme from my childhood when Christmas was over and all the excitement was gone. Because we had to go back to normal with our working, learning and starving. It's how I feel today, the 2nd of January. All my Christmas decorations are down and the presents have been put away, I feel downcast and depressed. But this is a new year and new things will happen.

I must be putting on weight. My stomach looks like I've stuffed a beach ball under my top and I'm just grateful that's the only things which has gotten bigger, everything else is the same size. Rory has hidden all the cakes in the house so I'm not tempted to eat them but to be honest I'm not a sweet-tooth anyway. So I have no idea why I'm getting so fat.

I am lying on the couch, with my hands folded on top of my stomach. I feel so bloated it is unbelievable, like I have actually swallowed the beach ball that my stomach looks like. I decide to clean out my wardrobe. That might move some of the air that's trapped in my stomach and plus it's time consuming. It will take me until at least Rory gets home.

Two hours later and I'm standing in amongst a sea of cardboard boxes which is what I have sorted my very messy wardrobe into. They are all labelled and I was surprised to find out that most of the stuff is Rory's. At least ten of them will need to go up to the attic because there is only so much room under a king-size bed.

The attic is quite scary. I don't exactly know what's in there because in the year and a half I have lived here have never once went into the attic. I usually get Rory to do it for me but all those boxes sitting there is bugging my happiness so I will have to just suck it up and get on with it. All I know is that there boxes of Katniss's Capitol stuff up there because this was her house before it was mine's.

I manage to get all ten boxes up. It takes me another hour because of the narrow opening into the attic, the big boxes and my beach-ball stomach. I am finally finished and sweating like I have run all the way to the Capitol and back. I settle myself down between two boxes to get my breath back. It takes a moment to realise that these aren't my boxes. These ones are old, faded and the hand writing on them isn't mine. These are the one's Katniss left behind.

I open the first one which is labelled The 75th annual hunger games - Quarter quell. Inside it's all dusty and I cough several times, wafting the dust away with my hand. Then I peer inside again. There are several items. The first I come across is a pearl, perfect and round, the next is several photo's of Katniss is her wedding dresses, then there is another set of photos of Katniss and Peeta - pretending to love each other. I then come across a letter addressed to me. It was never sent. The writing on the front of the envelope says, To be delivered after death. It still shocks me how they used to refer to death so casually. I open it.

Dear Prim.

I am not going to say much here because what I have written next will say it all. Remember that writing was never my forte so you'll understand how hard this was for me write. Please tell these people all of these things. Remember I will always love you my dearest sister. My little duck, you are the reason I'm writing this, I want you to be the one who gets my final words. Your ever loving big sister, Katniss.

If I die in this war zone

Box me up and send me home.

Put my bow and arrows on my chest.

Please tell Gale I did my best.

Please tell Peeta not to feel guilt,

That I broke the cocoon his love had built.

Please tell Madge she was a great friend to me,

I wish I never had to leave.

Please tell Haymitch thanks for the advice,

I appreciate all the sacrifice

Please tell Effie she can cheer

For she'll get a better district next year.

Go to Greasy sae and she'll comfort you

Please tell her thanks for all the stew

Say thanks to everyone else

I'll miss them all when I'm in death.

Tell President Snow to burn in hell

For what he's doing in the quarter quell.

Please tell mother I love her still,

Always have and always will,

And so my sister, don't you dare cry.

Because I'm a tribute, and I was born to die.

The letter is smudged with tear stains, I am smudging it further with my own. This is so hard to read. There was my sister, so sure she was going to die, and she wrote a letter to me telling me not to cry. It has been seven years since the quarter quell. Lots of things have changed and I'm sure lots of things will continue to do so. But there has always been one constant, and that is my sister's love.

There is no other letters for anyone else in the box, only me. I suddenly feel guilty, I shouldn't be doing this. This is my sister's painful past and I'm just rifling through it like it's nothing. I gently place everything else back in the box but I put the letter in my pocket. The doorbell rings.

I dry my eyes and go answer it, ready with the excuse 'I have the cold ' if anybody asks why my eyes are red. I open the door to be greeted by a blast of cold wind. The girl on the doorstep is shivering.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hello," she says, her teeth chattering.

"Umm can I do something for you?" I question.

"Oh yeah, this lady told me to come and get you."

"What lady?" I frown.

"Emm, well she's quite tall, has brown, long hair and has a baby on her hip." chatters the girl, obviously thinking that I would know who it was from her amateur description.

"Anything else ?" I say, my frown deepening.

"Her husband is tall with green eyes and golden hair."

I know immediately who it is. I thank the girl and shut the door, my smile so wide I look manic. I run upstairs to get my new winter coat, boots and gloves. I scrape my hair into a bobble and turn off all the lights. Then I remember with a sigh that I didn't ask the girl where they were. Oh well, there is only one place they could be.

I hurry to the square, mesmerized by how pretty the district looks. There is hardly anybody about, only a few poor souls who have to do their food shopping in this cold, harsh weather.

I stop at the door of my destination. There is a crowd of people about the yards over. I go over to see what they are all looking at. I gasp. It's Annie.

She is lying on the ground, as pale as the snow that surrounds her. Finnick is at her side, holding her hand. Annie is unconscious, her eyes closed and her mouth drawn into a tight line.

I barge past the onlookers, saying, "I'm a nurse," so they let me through. I kneel down beside Annie, trying not to look at Finnick because if I do, I will break into a thousand pieces. I spring into action. I take her pulse, at first I can't feel it but then there it is, faltering and unsteady. I open her eyelids to see if her pupils react with light but there is no such luck.

"Call an ambulance!" I scream to nobody in particular. Some random person chatters away on his phone to the operator, telling them all the details. I just sit there shaking Annie. Begging her to wake up and to not let go.

The hospital is an absolute chaos. Annie is rushed in on a stretcher while me and Finnick follow as closely behind as we can. Doctors and nurses all rush to see who the latest casualty is. I want to scream that she's not just another patient, that she someone's wife, an eight year-olds mother and someone's friend, But I can't because the only thing that coming from my throat is an odd harsh gurgling sound.

I just stand there with unspoken knowledge. Annie's heart stopped in the ambulance.

She is wheeled into a room where doctors and nurses attach all kinds of machines to her. Scary looking machines. They cut of her clothes and dress her in a hospital gown. She is not responding, moving or anything. She could be a doll.

We are asked to wait outside. Finnick starts to protest but I assure him that it's better this way. I don't tell him that it's better for the reason that he doesn't have to get upset at what the doctors will undoubtedly tell us. He sits there with his head in his hands.

"You know she came here to surprise you," whispers Finnick, "She didn't want to come and see you directly so she paid that little girl to go get you, telling her that she had to say that she had a baby on her hip. I don't know why, maybe it was to confuse you?" he laughs, a sad laugh.

"It was a lovely surprise," I whisper soothingly.

He doesn't appear to have heard me. "Then all of a sudden she grabbed my arm and just fell to the ground. I was so relieved when I saw you Prim." he says, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. I don't want to tell him that she's not better yet.

And so we sit there, comforting each other, while the snow melts off the hospital roof steadily.

Drip. Drip. Drip

Hello : ) I have an idea for my next story. It's a tie between "What if Peeta came out of the games without Katniss" OR "You're a spy for the Capitol in the districts during the rebellion but then you fall in love" so tell me which one you like better pleaseee : )