It's Too Much / It's Never Enough (Katie)

Dear Diary,

I had another flashback today. It was only a few seconds, but I could tell I had been running, and there were tears on my face. I was pushing open the a wooden door that looked about a million years old. I was terrified, for some odd reason. There were tears on my face, and I think I heard something break. But the moment the door swung open and I took my second step, I was back in the classroom, breathing hard. My heart was pounding, and I felt terrified.

What does it mean?

<><><><><><><><><>

I lean forward onto the window sill of our old house on the hill, gazing down the slope longingly. Sometimes I come back to this place, searching for a childhood that doesn't exist to me. No one bought the house, mostly because it's so cut off from the rest of the district. Eventually the Capitol just gave up and left it alone. What did they care about an old house in District Eleven, anyway? If it doesn't make them money, why bother? This house is different to me, though. It's a doorway into my lost past. The first place my parents took me before they brought me to their house was here. I remember escaping the sun's powerful rays in the shaded house, and it hit. The undeniable feeling that I had been here before. That's when they told me that I used to live here.

I couldn't say that I was really... impressed by it. I had been told my parents were very young and foolish, and spent all their money on drinks. But I was expecting something a bit more when I walked into the first room of the house. It looks like a dining room, only the table is scratched and the chairs that surrounding it are turned over. Three of them have a leg missing somewhere, but one is totally in tact. That's the one that I turned back up and now spend weekends sitting in, staring across the empty table. There are other rooms in the house, but the idea of going through them is terrifying to me. This house is so empty, yet it's filled with memories I can't reach. It feels like my real parents are just in the next room, and when I walk in, they're going to yell at me for disappearing for four years, or throw an empty glass bottle at my head.

No, this old room is enough for me. Except for the table and chairs, it's totally empty. There aren't even pictures on the wall. My other parents tell me that it was like that when the Keepers came here to try and find my parents. No pictures of happy family moments, or a sunset over the trees. No pretty painting that my mother and I had found together, like we do in my fantasies. No table with odd collections I had inspired, like the other kids' parents have. No black case in the corner that had the... the brass lock... can't touch it... don't ask, they'll yell... "August, get away from there."... run, run, or they'll realize... can't let them find out... get away... get away...

I gasp, stumbling away from the window and staring at the corner with wide eyes. It's how most of my flashbacks happen. They come about once a week, randomly popping up in my head. They're usually jumbled up thoughts that accompany a single image I don't recognize. They said they found this place exactly as it is now, but I am suddenly certain that there was a black case in the corner. And, for some reason, the idea of the black case comes with fear and anger. Fear of what's inside the case, but anger at the case itself... my memories and emotions usually come with a burst of anger, but I find myself calm and puzzled instead. Well, at least I'm not searching for a weapon that I can destroy with.

For a short while, I stay by the window, trying to regain my grip on the peace and happiness of before. However, it evades me, and after the fourth time my gave wanders over to the corner, I give up, shoving myself away from the window. The dread that suddenly fills the room is overwhelming, and while I continually try to tell myself that I shouldn't return to this place, it is almost certain I'll be found here again tomorrow. I pass through the empty frame that acts as a doorway- the real door was gone when I first arrived- and begin to curve toward the hill. For a moment, I gaze out over the orchards, breathing in the sweet smell of blooming plants. The sunlight spills down onto my bare shoulders, and I sigh, looking up at a cloudless sky.

I begin to walk down the hill, but my foot catches on a rock on my second step, and I suddenly find myself tumbling down the hill, green and blue spinning around in my vision as I move down faster and faster. At first, I allow my yelps to be altered by the rise and fall of the earth as I fall, but before I'm even half way down, I find myself laughing. The idea suddenly hits me that I've done this many times before, but it takes flight moments after the arrival. In four years, I have never tripped and fallen down the hill, so why should I feel like I've spun around like this even once?

I suddenly feel my back hit something solid, and let out a short squeal of surprise as the thing topples over me. My arms fly out, scraping at the ground in an attempt to stop myself. After a few more rolls, I successfully stop about five yards from the base of the hill. Standing and brushing myself off, I turn to see what I hit, and find to my surprise that a person lays on the ground. I gasp and rush toward them, not even bothering to pluck out the grass that is tangled in my light brown locks. "Oh, I am so sorry! Are you alright?"