We Fight, We Dare, We End Our

Let The Seventy-forth Hunger Games Begin, Cato, I Think. Let Them Begin For Real.

Peeta Smiles And Douses Haymitch's Knife In White Liquor From A Bottle On The Floor. He Wipes The Blade Clean On His Shirt Tail And Slices The Bread. Peeta Keeps All Of Us In Fresh Baked Goods. I Hunt. He Bakes. Haymitch Drinks. We Have Our Own Ways To Stay Busy, To Keep Thought Of Our Time As Contestants In The Hunger Games At Bay.

Charred Bits Of Black Silk Swirl Into The Air, And Pearls Clatter To The Stage… I’m In A Dress Of The Exact Design Of My Wedding Dress, Only It’s The Color Of Coal And Made Of Tiny Feathers. Wonderingly, I Lift My Long, Flowing Sleeves Into The Air, And That’s When I See Myself On The Television Screen. Clothed In Black Except For The White Patches On My Sleeves. Or Should I Say My Wings. Because Cinna Had Turned Me Into A Mockingjay.

Fire Is Catching! And If We Burn, You Burn With Us!

As The Alcohol Overcomes My Mind, I Hear The Glass Bottle Shatter On The Floor. This Seems Appropriate Since I Have Obviously Lost My Grip On Everything.