Warning Graphic chapter ahead of you.

"I didn't want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that's really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you're so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare." Ned Vizzini

I can't remember when I was last alone. When I was last out here in the forest all by myself. I shouldn't be here, no one knows I'm here. I should be in my room, underground. I should be receiving my medicine in ten minutes then they'll know I'm gone.

I can't help how much I want to be here though. The snow-covered ground the bare trees, all things I never appreciated before. All things I used to associate with starving.

I'm cold, freezing in fact, but that's the point. I'm feeling. And as long as I'm feeling I'm still me right? I'm still alive. As long as I can hold on to something. I reach out and touch the bark of the tree closest to me.

Rough, sticky, dark in color, alive. The one thing I know I'm not and I know I never will be again. They say they want me back. They all say that they need me. Don't they get that I need me too? Don't they understand that I have nothing left? That I've given them everything I have?

I don't think anyone needs me quite as much as me, well maybe Prim does. Did... Maybe Prim did. They told me she was dead, and that Peeta and Gale weren't conscious. They told me that my mother was out in the field and that Haymitch was still in the Capitol.

Walking isn't very easy in the snow, not to mention bare feet, but I can't manage a care for my steps. Not when the sky is a clouded night. Not when every aspect of my surroundings matches my state of mind. Blank. Endless. Dark. Empty.

The world around me is silent, forcing me to think. Think about all that has happened, how my life has fallen so far, so fast. To far. I remind myself.

It wasn't easy to escape. I told them I was going to visit Johanna, and I was. But when I got there no one else was. One of her neighbors told me that her heart stopped and no one knew why. They said she was in the hospital ward somewhere.

I guess that's really why I came out here. Because my one true friend, is more than likely dead. I guess I'm jealous really. If I'm going to be quite honest. I wish I had died on the floor of that cell, drawing one more tally with my blood as the next man came to finish my life with his own pleasure. He'd push so far into my I'd break, I'd bleed and I'd gasp in pain. Only it would sound like pleasure.

He'd be the last one, he'd takes his clothes and leave me. I'd take the closest syringe starting at my thighs and calves. Then my shoulders and my collar-bone, I'd slash open my stomach and save my arms for last.

Blood would still be pouring from my insides, the pain would be throbbing and intolerable. But it would be the end. There would be now last words or light at the end of the tunnel. I'd lay there once my whole body was bleeding and cut up.

I'd lay there and wait for death to look at me.

He'd ask me a question, "Are you ready?"

I'd look him dead in the eyes. I'd simply say, "I was born ready."

He'd lean down and I'd be free.

I've reached a point in the landscape where the trees begin to thin out. Where I realize I've reach a partially frozen river. I drop to my knees, I'm surprised that my mind hasn't tried to convince me I'm horrible. But maybe I'm already there.

I felt the snow melt against my skin, seeping into my legs and causing my already shivering body to shake uncontrollably.

I'm so cold, "But you can still feel." I say to myself. I look at myself in a patch of ice stuck to the river bank. I thought that maybe I'd see a girl. That maybe I'd look and see someone who has something to live for.

But I'm wrong. I see nothing. I see only the half-starved face, of a half-starved soul. I see tortured eyes that can't decide if they should be enraged or upset. They seem almost afraid until I realize, her eyes are dead.

She looks cold but only on the inside. Is she really cold. Inside she's a dark barren wasteland of a soul. The shattered remains of a heart litter her body cavity. There is no life, there is no light, there is no hope. And all the little people who wandered around in the darkness of her soul trying to pick up the pieces are gone.

There is but one little person left cleaning up the mess life had left behind. And that little person is on the outside now, questioning why she should keep it up, when nothing will ever fix it.

I can't take it anymore. I can't keep looking at myself. I start to cry, blinding my own eyes. Tears sting as they harden against the cold. I smash the ice with my fits sinking it to the bottom of the shallow bank. The water is painfully freezing causing an inhuman noise to escape my lips.

My right forearm is blinking red, the tracker in my arm. They know I'm gone. They're looking for me. Without a second thought I rip it out of my arm and fling it across the river to the other side of the bank.

I sit back on my heels and cry into my hands. I feel blood smear across my face, but I can't manage even the slightest care.

I look down at my arm, blood oozing off my skin. It drips into the snow, black like the rest of my surroundings. But then the blood seeps into the snow, brightening the color so it's clearly red.

I take the skin pulling back on it releasing more blood. I sit over the river watching the blood pour artfully into the river.

"I know I'm crazy." I whisper. "You can come out now. I am crazy." But the voice doesn't come. I'm infuriated at the response of silence. I run now, down stream pulling the skin off my other arm. "Come out!" I demand. The feeling of blood slipping from my arm isn't enough.

I've run far enough now, I decide to stop running and lay down in the snow. My face down in the pillow of the snow bank. When I turn over I can feel snow stuck to my face. I sit up quickly, I see faster waters here.

I rip at my legs, my thighs and calves torn to shreds. No memories come back. No voice telling me I'm worthless. Only the sound of rushing water. Only my breathing, only the sound of me tearing at myself.

I move on to tearing my stomach, I shout for that voice to no avail. I then hear myself shouting, "Stop please! It hurts!" I stop mutilating myself.

"You win." I whisper tears freezing as they touch my cheeks.

"It wasn't a game. I had always won." Finally an answer, and an honest answer at that.

Honesty something I haven't heard in a long time. Decades it seems.

So this was what that voice had wanted, me to give up. It wanted me dead. And that's just what I want. To be dead.

But how when I'm out here with nothing to use. Then I tune back into the world, it's snowing again the water crashing beside me. I turn my head and to my right I see a thinker block of ice sitting there in the bank.

I crawl to it and then with I have I break the block to a sharp edge.

Hear it is my way out. All alone but in the freedom of the wilderness. With the serenity of the flowing river, with snow falling peacefully around me. I lay now in my coffin of pillow like snow. Snow acting as the dirt that will bury me alive, how appropriate.

With the sharp-edged ice I pierce my chest filling my body with an odd kind of satisfaction.

I should feel pain, I know that. But I don't. I feel whole, proud. I did this, I am taking my own life away, so no sick man can have the satisfaction of owning me ever again.

I should feel cold, and though I most certainly don't feel warmth, I feel light.

Then he's there, a man I swear I've met before. An average looking man wearing a suit, his hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers.

His hair is slicked back, and he appears to be freshly shaven. He looks determined, ready for work. His face is calm as he stands beside me. His face is so calm. Not sad, not depressed, not afraid, not even remotely disgusted by my disfigured bleeding body.

He looks at me with familiarity as I feel for him. Like we're old friends finally meeting again. He looks at me without pity, without judgment.

He looks me up and down, he knows as well as I do that this is the end of me.

He knows that I've been waiting for him for all these years. He begs the question, "Are you ready?"

I look into his eyes without any fear of my own. His eyes pass no judgment, show no trace of surprise or shock. His eyes do not beg me to stay or go. He will not allow me to ask his questions that will sway me one way or another. This is my choice.

"I was born ready." I whisper through my last breath.

He leans down and takes my hand. And just as I knew I'd someday be, I am free.

He stands me upright. I feel light as air, "Look down." He says to me.

I turn and see a blood stained corpse of a once living girl. Fresh with death. I don't look at my body, instead I look at my face. Grey and blue from the cold, dark with death. My cheeks stained with watered down blood.

My lips slightly parted from my last words uttered to death. My long hair sprawled out around me like a sheet of dark fabric. My eyes still barely open empty grey eyes that read a life story for tragedy.

The saddest part however is that my face is serene, while my body shows the story of my struggles. Death places a warm hand on my shoulder, "You were undeniably strong. And I always knew that you'd welcome me when your time came."

I nod slightly as he continues, "I say we make it easier on them." Death whispers in my ear cleaning my body of a majority of the blood. He patches up my skin except where the tracker was laid in my arm, "So they can follow your trail." He says to me.

"Will they be alright?" I ask.

"No." He answers with cutting honesty, "They'll be crushed."

"Will they ever be happy again?"

"Some not all. Most of them will cry when your name is mentioned. Some will only feel an ache. One of them won't last long after you. But I'm sure you can figure out for yourself who that is."

"Peeta." I whisper.

"No actually. Haymitch will drink himself dead before midnight tonight." Death says to me, "But Peeta will soon follow you as well. It'll take him a day or two of numbness and then all at once he too will be gone from the world."

"Just as I have?" I ask.

"Just as you have." He says.

"Will they find me?" I ask and then he's there. The blonde boy who saved my life all those years ago lies beside my corpse.

"Katniss, please tell me you're in there." He begs me laying beside me in the snow. He's wounded, has bandages on his left arm. He's too weak to hold my dead body. So instead he lays with me in my snowy coffin under the bare trees of my grave site.

He cries on me. His kisses my cheeks and it tingles on me now. "Please don't give up."

But I already have. I already have.

"It kills me sometimes, how people die." -Death (The Book Thief)

So one more left my dear, yeah I know I killed her and yeah that was a little morbid... but you know what after a lot of thinking I thought that not everyone gets a happy ending. So yeah sorry for putting those images into your mind. So aside from that Mrs. Lincoln how was the play? No seriously how was it? In the next one they live pinky promise. Okay bye!