I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me.
How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage. But I never get the chance.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me.
They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.
Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.
We sit in silence awhile then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?
No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But what then ... what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some.
there's plenty of blame to go around.
Katniss. I remember about the bread.
Ally." Peeta says the words slowly, tasting it. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up.
"If I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he say's. "Real or not real?" "Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive." "Mockingjays do."
No one knows what to do with you, girlie.
Delly lost her temper at Peeta over how he treated you. She got very squeaky. It was like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly.
They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.
Panem et Circenses" translates into 'Bread and Circuses.' The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power.
Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.
I've asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you, Katniss." "But I don't want them to! They're already taking my future! They can't have the things that mattered to time in the past!" I say.
They're betting on how long I'll live!" I burst out. "They're not my friends!" "Well, try and pretend!" snaps Effie. Then she composes herself and beams at me. "See, like this. I'm smiling at you even though you're aggravating me.
Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink.
Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you. Only Haymitch can do that," says Effie grimly. "But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary." Although lacking in many departments, Effie Trinket has a certain determination I have to admire.
I mean I know it's cold out here and not everybody has a sleeping bag. But when you grit your teeth and stick it out until dawn!
It's just me and the Bane. And I'm fighting him because he killed all of those innocent mice and people, and I have to stop him. Not because Sandwich says so but because I say so.
In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren't scraping by like the majority of us. But here is different. Wrinkles aren't desirable. A round belly isn't a sign of success.
A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it.
Sometimes when I'm alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.
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