Fire beats roses again.
Katniss, there is no District Twelve...
The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That’s how they recognize me; Why I belong to them.
I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself.
Instead, I watch myself get shot on television.
Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that’s been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings.
For the last year his grandma had been slipping in and out of reality. One minute she was as clear as a bell and the next she was calling him Simon. Who was Simon? He had no idea.
This was the door to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other’s key.
Whatever it takes to break you.
Trapped for days, years, centuries maybe. Dead, but not allowed to die. Alive, but as good as dead. So alone that anyone, anything no matter how loathsome would be welcome.
All around the dining hall, you can feel the rejuvenating effect that a good meal can bring on. The way it can make people kinder, funnier, more optimistic, and remind them it’s not a mistake to go on living. It’s better than any medicine.
That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family.
All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent’s can’t give. More food.
Underground. Which I hate. Like mines and tunnels and 13. Underground, where I dread dying, which is stupid because even if I die aboveground, the next thing they’ll do is bury me underground anyway.
Remember that even in war there is a time for restraint. A time to hold back your sword.
Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.
I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage.
Maybe the other tributes are out there beating one another senseless. Which would be fine. – Katniss -.
I will never give up if you never give in.
They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out.