Do I Really Want Him Dead? What

"i'm Not Their Slave," The Man Mutters. "i Am," I Say. "that's Why I Killed Cato ... And He Killed Thresh ... And He Killed Clove ... And She Tried To Kill Me. It Just Goes Around And Around, And Who Wins? Not Us. Not The Districts. Always The Capitol. But I'm Tired Of Being A Piece In Their Games."

Charred Bits Of Black Silk Swirl Into The Air, And Pearls Clatter To The Stage… I’m In A Dress Of The Exact Design Of My Wedding Dress, Only It’s The Color Of Coal And Made Of Tiny Feathers. Wonderingly, I Lift My Long, Flowing Sleeves Into The Air, And That’s When I See Myself On The Television Screen. Clothed In Black Except For The White Patches On My Sleeves. Or Should I Say My Wings. Because Cinna Had Turned Me Into A Mockingjay.

They Can Pump Whatever They Want Into My Arm But It Takes More Than That To Keep A Person Going Once She's Lost The Will To Live.

As The Alcohol Overcomes My Mind, I Hear The Glass Bottle Shatter On The Floor. This Seems Appropriate Since I Have Obviously Lost My Grip On Everything.

I Think About Going To The Lake, But I'm So Weak That I Barely Make It To My Meeting Place With Gale. I Sit On The Rock Where Cressida Filmed Us, But It's Too Wide Without His Body Beside Me. Several Times I Close My Eyes And Count To Ten, Thinking That When I Open Them, He Will Have Materialized Without A Sound As He So Often Did. I Have To Remind Myself That Gale's In 2 With A Fancy Job, Probably Kissing Another Pair Of Lips.