Hey Everyone! This is a story I've had in my head for awhile and have decided to set it to Prompts in Panem's 7 deadly sins. Thanks to my friend, Lbug84 for her awesome betaing of this chapter and for being a bouncing board for the story. I highly suggest everyone check out her story Blend when you get a chance! I hope you all enjoy and I very much appreciate the feedback! Please read and Review!

Prologue- Three Years Earlier

Katniss pov

The bittersweet melody of the bagpipes almost drowns out the screaming in my head. It's a warm overcast day but it may as well be the middle of winter for all I can tell. The wheels make a slight squeaking noise as they slowly lower the caskets into the ground. It still hasn't registered. I could just as easily be watching them bury strangers. It's almost as though after I leave here, I'll arrive home to find Gale on the couch watching the football game with Prim on the floor by his feet playing with her dolls. I'll tell him about how weird funerals are. When the game goes to commercial he'll follow me into our bedroom where he'll unzip my itchy black dress and squeeze my shoulders gently to release the tension. He'll run his hand down my back and when I shiver, he'll place a soft kiss to my neck and whisper, "later."

"It is a custom of the Hawthorne Family to allow the family members and fellow mourners to shovel dirt into the grave. This is both to do a final kindness for the departed and to bring a sense of closure to the loved ones."

I feel a hand on my back and see Gale's mother pushing me forward. She has tears in her eyes and is grasping my mother's hand tightly. They tried to hold onto my hand but I shook them off. I move forward on wobbly feet. I have always hated wearing heels but my mother insisted I wear them today.

"It's always important to look our best even when we're feeling our worst." She'd said over my shoulder this morning.

I haven't been to a funeral since my father's. I was just a kid then, so I took her word for it. I regret it now. The cool handle of the shovel is rough against my skin. If I run my hand along the side of it I'm sure I will get multiple splinters. Whose idea was this anyway? The minister clears his throat behind me and when I look at him he says,

"Whenever you're ready, Mrs. Hawthorne." I clench my jaw to keep from lashing out at him. I'll stand here all day if I want. I pick up the shovel and drive my foot down onto the blade picking up a heaping pile of dirt, or sand. I'm not sure what it is. I let it drop into the hole with a large plump sound echoing up as it hits the hollow wood. I dig my shovel into the dirt again and lift it up walking over to the second hole. My hands shake as I turn the handle to free the soil. When the hollow sound rings out on the smaller casket, something breaks inside of me and suddenly I have to get out. I back away slowly dropping the shovel. I stumble on my heels and kick them off.

"Katniss?"

My mother calls to me. I look around and see the pain in her eyes and I know. I shake my head profusely and start running towards the parking lot. I hear my mother calling out to me again but I don't turn around. Then I hear the minister, I still don't turn around. I don't stop running until I've gotten in my car and back out of the gravel parking lot flinging tiny pieces of the shrapnel as I speed out.

I drive home on autopilot. When I pull into my driveway I slam the car door and walk briskly into my house ignoring the cuts on my feet. I get in quickly and close the door behind me. I turn my head sharply to the living room and see the TV off and the Barbies are still neatly put away in the cubby. I shake so hard I fall to my knees. An animal cry of pain fills the house as I bring my fisted hands up over my head letting out the trapped air from my chest. I don't know how long I'm on the floor but, I eventually get back on my feet. I'm still shaking when I walk into the living room and see a big bouquet of flowers. What must be three dozen perfectly white-stemmed roses preen in a pristine crystal vase sit on top of the mantle.

The card reads,

'Our deepest condolences for your loss.' –The Snows.

An electric current runs up my spine as I read the note once, twice, three times. The sound of shattering glass breaks through the silence as I look at it in thousands of pieces on the floor. I don't stop there. I want more of that noise. I move onto the decorative urns and revel in the rich tones of crashing pottery. I push over the bookcase, letting it fall into the glass dining table. My shouts have joined the symphony of destruction as I move on to flipping over the coffee table and dining room chairs. I see Gale's signed baseballs displayed on the shelf. I open them up and chuck them at the TV. The reverberating cracks feed on my need to hear things broken. Just like I'm broken. I grab onto the floor lamp and swing it at the window for a homerun. I jump and rip the silk curtains with my bare hands reveling in the tearing of the expensive fabric. My weight is too much and the rod falls to the floor breaking my balance. I hit the floor hard and welcome the darkness.

I'm still on the floor when I come too. I look around at my once great room. You've really made a mess of things, Katniss. My eyes catch on the only thing in the room that hasn't been destroyed. All of the frames are still perfectly intact and spaced flawlessly around our large wedding portrait. Not a single one fell to the floor. I brush the hair out of my eyes and notice the streak of blood. I get to my feet slowly and catch my reflection in the mirror. Sweet mercy, I'm a mess. I should go clean myself up. I walk with single-minded purpose towards my bathroom, welcoming the sting of pain with each step I take. I watch unfazed as my feet leave red stains on my bedroom carpet. I estimate how much the cleaners will charge to remove the marks. I wonder if the wallpaper will need replacing. I consider anything and everything that will keep me from looking at the bed I shared with Gale.

I rinse the residual dirt and glass from my body. I pay close attention to the bottom of my feet. I move onto the shampoo globing too much into my palm before rigorously showering off the day. When I shut off the water I'm greeted with the deafening hush of silence. I grab a towel and dry off. I look in the mirror again and see the dark circles and pale face my mother had so expertly hid this morning with her makeup. I eye the bathroom door wearily. When I go back out there I will be alone and the fog of grief will hang over me threatening to push me down to the floor. I take a deep breath and pull at the handle with purpose. I march into my closet and pull down the carry on luggage Gale's mother got us as an engagement gift. I blindly throw clothing into the tray until its full. After jerking on a pair of jeans, I zip the thing shut grabbing a pair of flats on my way out. A sharp cry rings through the air and breaks my concentration. Looking up at me from the floor is Prim's awkward orange fur ball. His green eyes, that are much to big for his face, look up at me with all kinds of questions I can't answer. I feel my jaw shake but clamp my teeth down to keep it steady. I swallow and bend down scooping up the tiny thing. I grab his carrier as I leave out the mudroom only stopping to grab a picture on the bulletin wall. Once I've pocketed the family moment I stuff the cat and a bag of its food into the carrier. I shut the back door without bothering to turn on the alarm.

I'm not sure where I'm going but I know that wherever it is, I'm buying a one-way ticket.

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