Thank you DemigodWiththebread, you are the best beta anyone can ask for! Thank you so much!
I make my way through the cold, dark night; snow has just fallen. It covers the whole town, making everything appear as if it's covered in a huge blanket. Not much can be heard in the night of District Twelve. Just the muffled sounds of my feet hitting the snow-covered ground. My only source of light is coming from the moon, otherwise - darkness, nothing. It's midnight; everyone else is sleeping. But not me. If I go to sleep, the nightmares will take over.
I finally make it to the small slab of stone in the ground, among the trees. It's unreadable right now, because of the snow. I fall to my knees and reach a glove-covered hand out, brushing away the white substance. The words on the stone stare blankly back at me:
A sob escapes my lips as I gaze at the name - her name. It's my fault she's dead. When she pulled out those berries, I took them willingly. How was I supposed to know that when she brought the berries to her lips, she actually swallowed some. When the voice rang out above us that we both had won- it was too late. I bow my head, my blonde hair covering part of my eyes. Then I cry over her grave.
"I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm so sorry," I whisper, tears dripping down my cheeks, making dents in the pure snow.
"What are you sorry for?" a voice asks behind me. I turn sharply to see him - her best friend. He doesn't even look at me, he just stares longingly at the small grave. I don't answer him; I just stare too. All we can do is stare at what's left of her.
"You must hate me," I say to him. After all, I came home and she didn't. I hate myself. He comes over and stands right next to where I'm kneeling. He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jacket and sighs.
"I can't hate you. As much as I want to, no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to hate you. After what you went through, what she went through..." his voice trails off and he looks up at the moon. "Nobody should have to endure that," he says sadly. I look up at his stone hard face. It holds no emotion - except in his eyes. They're full of pain and sorrow at the loss of his best friend, but they hold no tears. I wonder if he can't bring himself to cry or if he just has no more tears left.
"I'm sorry that I couldn't save her; sorry that she didn't make it home," I finally answer his question. He looks down at me and walks away, but not before replying:
"There's nothing left to be sorry for."
I can only agree with him.
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