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.
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.