Peeta watched District 12 burn.
He watched the orange blaze of the fires disappear into plumes of dark, curling smoke rising through the air.
There were screams, sporadic and hushed, smothered by the sounds of the evergrowing explosions from the incendiary payloads dropped by the Hovercraft, then silenced forever by the detonations thereafter.
Somewhere in him... Was something. A feeling of regret - sadness? - that stalled with each boom, at each briskly silenced cry. Lives taken, homes destroyed forever, children dying before they could live.
It was tragic, a harsh reminder of the barbarity of the Capitol and the cruelty it would inflict on those it viewed as rebellious or disloyal in any capacity. So many would be dead when this was over. People they wouldn't get to bury, to send off in dignity and love.
He should feel much worse about this.
Peeta felt the sadness of the situation...But it wasn't enough. It didn't feel like it was enough.
There should be a growing hollow in his heart, an expanding concern for those who died and those who were dying. He should be thinking about the room he shared with his brothers, the bakery beneath it, the bread...
The family that didn't trust him enough to come with him.
Peeta turned to the plethora of people behind him, what would soon be all that remained of the memory of District 12. He heard their sobs and cries - even they were hushed, doubtless out of some sort of fear of being heard - and tried to envelop himself in them, to use them to grow the speck of sorrow within him.
There was only sympathy.
How different was it to concern?
Instead of trying to figure itself out, his mind turned to intake the situation. The severity of it, the hopelessness of it...
Did that make him focused or something else entirely?
A/N: Well, this one's been in my mind for a while and after a bit of planning, here we are.
Also, don't worry - this will be the shortest chapter of the story. The average length will be many times bigger than this.