They Don't Own Me. If I'm Gonna

Katniss, I Don't Think President Snow Will Kill Peeta. If He Does, He Won't Have Any Way To Hurt You." "so, What Do You Think They'll Do To Him?" I Ask. "whatever It Takes To Break You.

Hey, Look At This!" He Holds Up A Glistening, Perfect Pearl About The Size Of A Pea. "you Know, If You Put Enough Pressure On Coal It Turns To Pearls," He Says Earnestly To Finnick. "no, It Doesn't," Says Finnick Dismissively. But I Crack Up, Remembering That's How A Clueless Effie Trinket Presented Us To The People Of The Capitol Last Year, Before Anyone Knew Us. As Coal Pressured Into Pearls By Our Weighty Existence. Beauty That Arose Out Of Pain.

I Squeeze My Eyes Shut And Try To Reach For Him Across The Hundreds And Hundreds Of Miles, To Send My Thoughts Into His Mind, To Let Him Know He Is Not Alone. But He Is. And I Can't Help Him.

For Me, It's Better To Wake Up With A Paintbrush Than A Knife In My Hand. -peeta

Once I'm On My Feet I Realize Escape Might Not Be So Simple, Panic Begins To Set In. I Can't Stay Here. Flight Is Essential But I Can't Let My Fear Show. Winning Means Fame And Fortune, Losing Mean Certain Death, The Hunger Games Have Begun . . .