Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight.
You could do a lot worse.
I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it’s so bizarre, even for Finnick.
I have been keeping track of the boy with the bread.
Remembering from last year how Haymitch’s gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You’ll get food.
If you are not trying to hold on to time, you are not so afraid of losing it.
I don’t care if you got knocked up. I can still rip your throat out.
The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol’s plans. The symbol of the rebellion.
Yes, and I’m sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people.
Katniss, the girl who was on fire!
And so I’m stupid for thinking they might be useful. Because of something Johanna Mason said while she was oiling her breasts for wrestling.
You here to finish me off, Sweetheart?
It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down.
Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do. Especially if the target is unprepared.
Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese.
But just the fact that he was sparkling leads me to doubt everything that happened.
Oh, the fun we two have together.
No. Now, shut up and eat your pears.
Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.
It’s ideal really. They will come up with a plan. No one will like it. Everyone will feel they have been treated unfairly, but will be happy that their neighbors feel the same. And that is the nature of compromise. Now let’s go eat an awful lot.