"She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sing down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed., he's there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.
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Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Mockingjay - Pg 386
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