Stay With Me. Always.

Something Flickers Across His Bloodshot Eyes. Pain.

Deep In The Meadow, Hidden Far Away A Cloak Of Leaves, A Moonbeam Ray Forget Your Woes And Let Your Troubles Lay

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.

The Morphlings From District 6 Are In The Camouflage Station, Painting Each Other's Faces With Bright Pink Swirls.

An Ability To Look Into The Confusing Mess Of Life And See Things For What They Are.