Whenever I Write A Story, I Hope

Why Am I Hopping Around Like Some Trained Dog Trying To Please People I Hate?

Remember That Even In War There Is A Time For Restraint. A Time To Hold Back Your Sword.

I'm Unaware That My Feet Are Moving To The Table Until I'm Inches From The Holograph. My Hand Reaches In And Cups A Rapidly Blinking Green Light. Someone Joins Me, His Body Tense. Finnick, Of Course. Because Only A Victor Would See What I See So Immediately. The Arena. Laced With Pods Controlled By Gamemakers. Finnick's Fingers Caress A Steady Red Glow Over A Doorway. "ladies And Gentlemen..." His Voice Is Quiet, But Mine Rings Through The Room. "let The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games Begin!

No, It Happened. And Right When Your Song Ended, I Knew - Just Like Your Mother - I Was A Goner,' Peeta Says.

You're Not Going To Die. I Forbid It. All Right?" "all Right," He Whispers.