Peeta Bakes. I Hunt. Haymitch Drinks Until

Do It. Before They Send Those Mutts Back Or Something. I Don't Want To Die Like Cato," He Says. “then You Shoot Me," I Say Furiously, Shoving The Weapons Back At Him. "you Shoot Me And Go Home And Live With It!" And As I Say It, I Know Death Right Here, Right Now Would Be The Easier Of The Two.

In District 12, Looking Old Is Something Of An Achievement Since So Many People Die Early. You See An Elderly Person, You Want To Congratulate Them On Their Longevity, Ask The Secret Of Survival. A Plump Person Is Envied Because They Aren't Scraping By Like The Majority Of Us. But Here Is Different. Wrinkles Aren't Desirable. A Round Belly Isn't A Sign Of Success.

Vikus Looked At Luxa And Opened His Arms. She Stood, Still Frozen, Staring At Him As If He Were A Complete Stranger. "luxa, It's Your Grandpa," Said Gregor. It Seemed Like The Best And Most Important Thing To Say At The Moment. "it's Your Grandpa." Luxa Blinked. A Tiny Tear Formed At The Corner Of Her Eye. A Battle Took Place On Her Face As She Tried To Stop The Feelings Rising Up Inside Her. The Feelings Won, And To Gregor's Great Relief, She Ran Into Vikus's Arms.

And Once We Reach The City, My Stylist Will Dictate My Look For The Opening Ceremonies Tonight Anyway. I Just Hope I Get One Who Doesn't Think Nudity Is The Last Word In Fashion.

Yes, Victors Are Our Strongest. They're The Ones Who Survived The Arena And Slipped The Noose Of Poverty That Strangles The Rest Of Us. They, Or Should I Say We, Are The Very Embodiment Of Hope Where There Is No Hope. And Now Twenty-three Of Us Will Be Killed To Show How Even That Hope Was An Illusion.