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Pump. Pump. I’m still alive. I don’t know how. This is the only way I know I’m alive. The horrible things I’ve done. Killed. In “hot” and “cold” blood. I used to know the difference. But now everything’s the same. When I kill. When I kiss. When I sleep. When I live. It’s all the same. The only thing that fills me now if air

“Everything I’ve done I was forced to.” That’s what I used to tell myself. That it wasn’t my fault. Denial. Then came guilt. “It was my fault and I deserve to pay.”

Now? Well now there’s nothing. Occasionally I think of prim. And I smile. But then comes sorrow because I killed her. It was my fault. And I don’t care. I don’t care about much about anything anymore. I am Katniss Everdeen. And since the games passed. I’m numb. And the day I rest in my grave. Is the day peace rains over.