The Evil Thing Is Inside, Not Out.

We Hand The Meat Over To Greasy Sae In The Kitchen. She Likes District 13 Well Enough, Even Though She Thinks The Cooks Are Somewhat Lacking In Imagination. But A Woman Who Came Up With A Palatable Wild Dog And Rhubarb Stew Is Bound To Feel As If Her Hands Are Tied Here.

She’s Really Gone, Then. The Little Girl With The Back Of Her Shirt Sticking Out Like A Duck Tail, The One Who Needed Help Reaching The Dishes, And Who Begged To See The Frosted Cakes In The Bakery Window. Time And Tragedy Have Forced Her To Grow Too Quickly, At Least For My Taste, Into A Young Woman Who Stitches Bleeding Wounds And Knows Our Mother Can Hear Only So Much.

Well, I Can't Leave Mags Behind," Says Finnick. "she's One Of The Few People Who Actually Likes Me.

The Raw Hunk Of Meat That Used To Be My Enemy Makes A Sound, And I Know Where The Mouth Is. And I Think The Word He's Trying To Say Is 'please'. Pity, Not Vengeance Sends My Arrow Flying Into His Skull.

What Must It Be Like, I Wonder, To Live In A World Where Food Appears At The Press Of A Button?