But I Don't Know What To Him

My Little Sister, Prim, Curled Up On Her Side, Cocooned In My Mother’s Body, Their Cheeks Pressed Together. In Sleep, My Mother Looks Younger, Still Worn But Not So Beaten-down. Prim’s Face Is As Fresh As A Raindrop, As Lovely As The Primrose For Which She Was Named. My Mother Was Very Beautiful Once, Too. Or So They Tell Me.

So I Learned To Hold My Tongue And To Turn My Features Into An Indifferent Mask So That No One Could Ever Read My Thoughts.

He Wants As Many Victors As Possible For The Cameras To Follow In The Capitol. Thinks It Makes For Better Television." "are You And Beetee Going?" I Ask. "as Many Young And Attractive Victors As Possible," Haymitch Corrects Himself. "so, No. We'll Be Here.

I Always Channel My Emotions Into My Work. That Way, I Don't Hurt Anyone But Myself.

A Spark Could Be Enough To Set Them Ablaze.