Poison. The Perfect Weapon For A Snake.

I Wish She Was Dead,' He Says. 'i Wish They Were All Dead And We Were, Too. It Would Be Best.

When I Ask Plutarch About His Absence, He Just Shakes His Head And Says, "he Couldnt Face It." "haymitch? Not Able To Face Something? Wanted A Day Off, More Likely," I Say. "i Think His Actual Words Were 'i Couldn't Face It Without A Bottle,'" Says Plutarch.

Even If Times Got Bad, He Would Never Again Deny Himself The Possibility That The Future Might Be Happy Even If The Present Was Painful. He Would Allow Himself Dreams.

Yes, Frosting. The Final Defense Of The Dying.

If I Can Make It Clear That I’m Still Defying The Capitol Right Up To The End, The Capitol Will Have Killed Me... But Not My Spirit. What Better Way To Give Hope To The Rebels?