I am angry. I tried writing an original story, got a good 60,000 words into it and then read the Maximum Ride series. Those books were nearly identical to my story, so I scratched it and started a new one. Then I read The Maze Runner. WHY DOES THIS FRIGGIN HAPPEN TO ME? The forces must not want me to write an original story, because every time I start one, I read a book that has nearly identical plots to my stuff. So my fanfiction is saving me. In the words of the Germans; Ich liebe dich. All of you. Honestly. Though I'm sure my German is a little off.

oOo

Time went by, and before I knew it, snow had piled up around the newly reconstructed District 12. The laughter of children constantly rang through the crisp winter air as snowballs flew around. But I sat inside, doing nothing but watching their cherry faces split into smiles.

Actually, over time, I began eating again. There was no point killing myself when I had a whole life ahead of me, whether Katniss was sharing it with me or not. Gradually, I began working my way back into reality. Having the bakery open two days a week. Taking short trips to the vendors to have dinner. And, little by little, I grew slowly less miserable.

Though I knew I would never be fully happy, I was back. When people waved at me in town, I waved back. When I felt a snowball crumble against my back, I'd turn around and flick one back at the children who were staring at me, grinning. My bakery was back open six days a week and I had no trouble welcoming customers coming in with spare coins, looking for bread.

This should have made me suspicious. I should have known this period of contentment wouldn't last long. Like the calm before the storm, or the eye of a hurricane. Nothing like this ever lasted if you had been broken like I was.

It was a normal day, and I was walking the outskirts of town for no seeming reason. It was March, and the air around me was crisp and frigid, though I knew it was just the beginnings of spring. Back before, the fence would have been running along next to me, but ever since the defeat of the Capitol, the fence had been torn down and a new one built in its place. Not electric, of course, but about six feet high and wooden, only for the sake of keeping wild animals out.

Beyond the splintered material of the enclosure, tops of trees were visible. Snow still rested on the peaks like glistening white hats, swaying slightly in the wind. My eyes ran lazily over the protruding branches, and there was a perceptible longing feeling in my gut. I knew what it was, of course, but refused to acknowledge it, so I turned my eyes away and kept walking.

But the very second I tore my eyes away from a patch of snow, a bird sounded. High and sweet the four notes rang out, and for a second I stood still, a sickening feeling of recognition in my gut. Again, the bird called out those four melodic notes, and a rustle came from beside me.

My eyes automatically snapped towards the noise, where a gorgeous black-and-white bird had taken flight, straight over my head and beyond. A cry nearly rose from my throat, along with the slamming pain of remembering. Remembering Katniss.

Another stab of pain hit me, straight in the heart, and I was sprinting. Hot tears filled my eyes, blinding me. Yet with my eyesight, the feeling didn't go away. I was running, running to a place I had no idea where it was. I was running away from, yet towards my memories. Then I ran into my memories head-first, and nearly fell to the ground.

I fumbled my hand along the door, found the doorknob, and burst inside. I didn't know what I was doing here. The gleaming, polished shelf tops were now dusty, and the expensive furniture was now looking deflated for not being in use for nearly a year. I didn't know why I came… The Victors' Village was the last place I wanted to be.

But still, I didn't stop the wave of fresh tears as they overflowed out of my eyes and down my face. In a livid sort of frenzy, I stumbled up the stairs. In my old room, there were pictures. Pictures all over the walls, the drawers. Her face… Her face was everywhere, either grinning hello or scowling down at me.

Before I could stop myself, I had brought my fingernails down upon the first picture, ripping it into three pieces, sending it fluttering to the ground. Then the next. I was tearing picture after picture from the wall, having the satisfaction of listening to glass frames shatter upon impact, colliding on the floor, on opposite walls, on my bloody bare feet.

A scream forced its way out of my throat and scraped my lungs raw. I tasted the coppery blood on my tongue and the rivulets of dark crimson dribbling down my hands. Blood was everywhere. My blood.

I had done this. No longer were her faces glancing up at me or far away in the distance. Now I only caught little snippets of shredded paper, a peek of olive skin.

My Katniss was gone. She was gone. I had done this, this murder. There was the blood on my hands to prove it.

I dropped down onto my knees, grief and remorse greeting me on my way down. Again, tears filled my eyes and down my face, and I was coughing. The blood-tinged air raked in and out of my chest, and even more blood splattered onto the floor. What was happening to me? What was this feeling of darkness pressing down onto my heart, my mind?

Self-loathing came down in a sudden jerk, accompanying the sorrow and guilt. I had done this. I had let her go, I had felt her lips press against mine for the last time, not knowing what a real goodbye it had been. I had ignored all the pain that was building in my chest over time. I had allowed myself to nearly be happy. I had shredded what I had left of her… I had killed my Mockingjay. Shot straight from the sky. Now all that was left were shreds of feathers, sticking to the dusty floor with my own blood.

The coughing had stopped, but I had begun to tremble. Shivers ran the length of my body and back hitting tender nerves. Waves of ice-cold shook me, over and over, until I had no energy.

My entire body collapsed onto the floorboards. No tears, no sobs, no coughing, not even shivering affecting me. I was dead to the world, but only more so. The fact that I had murdered my mockingjay only made it worse.

My mind, though I did not want it to, flashed to a memory I had revisited a number of times. It wasn't necessarily the best, nor the happiest. In fact, Katniss was heartbroken. It was the day after Gale passed, and she had had a meltdown. It was horrible, watching her heart break into pieces in front of me.

"Just out of curiosity, what happens now?"

Katniss looked at me with a strange puzzled look on. "What?"

"I don't know…" Feeling were welling up inside of me, I wasn't sure which one I should feel. "He just played a big part in your life, and you were so close to him. I hate to see you so devastated, but from a wound this big, do you think it will ever heal?"

She blinked, making a little flicker of shadow dance across her cheekbones. "I don't know. As much as I am ashamed to admit it, as I sat there on the floor watching him die, I realized something. I did love him, but it took a tragedy for me to recognize that and so I don't know if I can ever go back."

Maybe that was true, but did she really have to say it that way? All my life I had envied Gale for being such a big part of Katniss' life, thinking that she would eventually love him like he did her. But every "I love you" we had exchanged in the past year felt so real. Now, I just wondered if my feelings had been taken granted for. I'll always love Katniss, but with a wound to deal with this big, who knows if she could ever love me back as much as I had hoped? I looked away from her, so she wouldn't see me hurt.

"Peeta, you don't understand! You have no idea what we have been through together. I am not saying that I love him more than you and would have chosen him over you. I—"

As she talked, I shook my head slightly to myself, hoping she wouldn't see.

She did. "I am not joking, Peeta!" I felt her fingers slide under my chin and force me to look at her. "How could I possibly live without you? You're acting as though I don't love you, but I do!" Her voice cracked. "I do."

I finally met my own eyes with her shining silver ones, the very same pair I had fallen in love with. They were full of devotion and misunderstanding, but something else stirred deep inside those fathomless gray eyes of hers. Katniss was looking at me with pure love and need, so tender I couldn't help but sigh. With one hand I tucked a piece of black hair that had falling charmingly over one of her eyes. "…I love you, too."

oOo

I just love returning to that memory. It was so sweet. But Peeta's meltdown before it nearly had me crying. It hurts me to have him so heartbroken.