I guess this is a bad time to mention I hung a dummy and painted Seneca Crane's name on it.
I realize, for the first time, how very lonely I've been in the arena. How comforting the presence of another human being can be.
Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it.
So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent...and right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner.
I try to forgive her for my father's sake. But to be honest, I'm not the forgiving type.
Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel. "You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know," Haymitch says.
We could do it, you know." "What?" "Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.
And then he gives me a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.
I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years. But there are much worse games to play.
Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions.
The raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where the mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is 'please'. Pity, not vengeance sends my arrow flying into his skull.
I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you.
I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.
My mother says healers are born, not made.
But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. "Katniss, there is no District Twelve."
I have two older sisters and one older brother and hold them largely responsible for the trouble I got into growing up. I believe as the youngest child, that is my right.
I clench his hands to the point of pain. "Stay with me." His pupils contract to pinpoints, dialate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. "Always," he murmurs.
And don't you let your guard down for a second because you think anything's inevitable.
Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage… I’m in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it’s the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a mockingjay.
You're hideous, you know that, right?
I’m in pain. That’s the only way I get your attention
I merely feel emptyness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers use to bloom.
Knowing it and seeing it are two different things.
I'm running on hate. When the energy from that ebbs I'll be worthless.
I don't have a talent, unless you count hunting illegally, which they don't. Or maybe singing, which I wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. My mother tried to interest me in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Effie Trinket sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them took, although Prim had a knack for all three. Finally Cinna stepped in and offered to help me develop my passion for designing clothes, which really required development since it was non-existent.
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