The fancy Capitol train slowly comes to a stop. The doors open, and I see that the District 7 has been slightly decorated for the last stop on the Victory Tour. I hop of the train and shove through the crowd.
"Mom!" I shout, and, when I don't see her, I rush to my home in the Victor's Village.
Please have that letter be a joke. . .
I fling open the door and run inside.
"Zem? Mom?" I shout desperately.
No response.
"Mom!" I shout, my voice slightly breaking. "Mom? Are you here?"
Still no response. I turn around sharply and run all around the District, checking the stores they go to regularly, checking places they almost never go. I check Dad's new small place he moved into after he left us.
Finally, I realize I haven't checked the garden behind our house, where my mother and Zemetria love to plant flowers. As I'm darting back there, I silently pray they're there, alive, and happy, and laughing about something that happened the day before.
As I begin to make a sharp turn, my eyes find something on the side of the of the house. Splattered blood. It wasn't there before. My stomach is feeling queasy, and I don't know what to do.
I find myself standing behind the house. The garden is looking lovely.
However, the dead bodies are not.
"Mom!" I gasp, and shake her, check her pulse, and try to find her breathe. But there's nothing there to find.
My father lies dead. I turn, shaking so hard and hoping, hoping so so much that I don't see Zemetria's dead carcass.
My pounding heart just about dies when I see her.
"No," I whisper, and begin to check her for wounds. I find a large, sharp, deep cut in her stomach, and I know immediately that someone threw an axe full force at her. That's the only thing it could've been.
I run my fingers across her arm and down to her wrist, hoping desperatly for even the slightest pulse.
Silence.
I consider calling the hospital, but I know that they're dead. There's no hope of even reviving them. The wounds look like they were from yesterday.
It's too late.
I was too late.
"I'm so sorry," I say to her lifeless body. "It's all my fault. I'm so sorry."
I find an empty spot in the graveyard and don't both asking. I dig a hole and lay their bodies there.
Back home in the Victor's Village, I sit perfectly still on the couch. I don't cry, I don't scream. I just sit there, hoping to wake up any second from a dream. I sit. I wait. I stare at nothing.
But I don't wake up from any 'dream.'
I have to accept reality. My family is dead, Hensa is dead, Amarack is dead. And it's my fault. Yes, there are those people who are dead on the inside, too. Now I know how it feels like to have someone you care about dead. I know how it feels to be Hensa's sister. Or Amarack's father.
You're not dead, someone in your family is. But you feel dead. Because I feel just as pale and freezing as my family did when I found them.
I walk over to Marie's house. She's a good person to go to for comfort if you ever need it. I take my time and knock on the door.
No answer.
I knock again. She would've answered.
Still no answer.
Suddenly I'm worried. I twist the knob but it's locked. Crap. Using my fist, I smack off the entire doorknob and shove the door open
"Marie? It's Johanna!" I call. She's here. I saw her walk in and she didn't come out.
"Marie?"
I dart up the stairs and barge into a room.
Gasping, I can't believe this. Please, no...
Marie is lying on the ground. A broken glass sits beside her. Her hand is lying on her heart. I grab the phone off her desk and scream at someone to get a team of paramedics here NOW!
When they arrive, I pace back and forth as they try to revive her. Place my hand on my forehead, then drop it down. This can't be happening. This really can't be happening.
I just lost my mother, my father, and my baby sister. I can't lose Marie, too. I can't do this alone. People think I can, but I know I can't.
"Is she alive? Can you save her?" I ask desperately. "Please tell me you can save her. . ."
One of the paramedics walks over and puts his hand on my shoulder. I look down. This means something, and I'm trying to prepare myself for what's coming.
"Johanna, I'm sorry. She had a heart attack about a half hour ago, and because she didn't get help right away because nobody was around, she-"
"Don't say it. Please," I say. "I know."
He pats me on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. Go home to your family, okay. They'll be better comfort than me."
I stare at him, turn around, and walk out the door slowly, and trudge home to nobody.
"There's no one left I love," I whisper to only myself.
The End