I can't believe it.
She's dead.
Gone.
My rosy Posy, my little sister.
Gone forever.
The doctor came to us yesterday and started with 'I'm sorry for your loss' and I couldn't bear it any longer it.
Throwing things, shouting at doctors until Johanna, woken up from her slumber managed to calm me down.
"Gale, Gale! Stop it!" she said. "She's gone! I'm sorry. I am so so sorry," she stammered before I broke down sobbing.
She held me, she cried along with me.
When I told her I wanted to be alone, she left.
And now here I am. Listening to my mother's screams. Watching as Vick and Rory hold each other, trying to be man enough to not cry.
It doesn't work of course.
I shouldn't be writing. But I am. Maybe I find some type of release some type of comfort, though I haven't sought any yet.
I can't describe how I feel right now. I can't decipher the hurt, the empty feeling in my so called heart.
It just, hurts. So so much.
The pain is something I've never felt before. Not back in twelve when my father was murdered in the mines below. Not when I was whipped for that stupid wild turkey I jacked over the fences. Not even when Katniss was picked for those Devil games.
I hate this.
And I just have to keep praying that the doc will just walk over here, and tell us, that she will wake up.
That it was just a misunderstanding.
But I know better
Gale
WAIT! Put down your pitchforks and torches! Now before you all, oh I don't know, STAB ME IN MY SLEEP! I want you to know that the next chapter will be better, I swear.
-Jozette