The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren’t killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands.
I’m disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke, but he sees it now. His features register disbelief and something more intense that I can’t quite place. Desire? Desperation?
And again and again when I held out those berries that meant different things to different people. Love for Peeta. Refusal to give in under impossible odds. Defiance of the Capitol’s inhumanity. Haymitch.
It must be excruciating, but I lost all my sympathy for Haymitch when I realized how he had deceived us.
May be odds be always in your favor.
I’ve caught the eye of an inquisitive-looking little girl in a lemon yellow coat.
Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility?
We can stop now if you want.” “Was there more to discuss?” says Peeta wryly.
Gunfire rips through the crowd, and several people near me slump to the ground.
I’m not too upset to answer that.
What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Petta can give me that.
Gregor knew it had been years since he’d felt real happiness.
Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that – what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?
I want to tell the rebels that I am alive. That I’m right here in District Eight, where the Capitol has just bombed a hospital full of unarmed men, women, and children. There will be no survivors.” The shock I’ve been feeling begins to give way to fury. “I want to tell people that if you think for one second the Capitol will treat us fairly if there’s a cease-fire, you’re deluding yourself. Because you know who they are and what they do.
The little girl who was watching me kneels beside a motionless woman, screeching and trying to rouse her. Another wave of bullets slices across the chest of her yellow coat, staining it with red, knocking the girl onto her back. For a moment, looking at her tiny crumpled form, I lose my ability to form words.
This is what they do! And we must fight back!
He struggled to get ahold of himself. This had to stop! He couldn’t flip out every time he thought about what lay before him. Of all the people he would never see, or all the things he would never do. He would be worthless. Of no use at all. He had to have something in his mind to hold on to. Something that gave him strength.
There won’t be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn’t lay down their weapons – and I mean, as in very soon – it’s all over, anyway.
I am transfixed by that lemon yellow coat.
Boots: “Hi, you!