A Spark Could Be Enough To Set

Peeta Smiles And Douses Haymitch's Knife In White Liquor From A Bottle On The Floor. He Wipes The Blade Clean On His Shirt Tail And Slices The Bread. Peeta Keeps All Of Us In Fresh Baked Goods. I Hunt. He Bakes. Haymitch Drinks. We Have Our Own Ways To Stay Busy, To Keep Thought Of Our Time As Contestants In The Hunger Games At Bay.

Buttercup, Miserable Even With Prim’s Constant Attention, Huddles In The Cube And Exhales Cat Breath In My Face.

It's Not Easy To Find A Topic. Talking Of Home Is Painful. Talking Of The Present Unbearable.

My Spirit. This Is A New Thought. I'm Not Sure Exactly What It Means, But It Suggests I'm A Fighter. In A Sort Of Brave Way. It's Not As If I'm Never Friendly. Okay, Maybe I Don't Go Around Loving Everybody I Meet, Maybe My Smiles Are Hard To Come By, But I Do Care For Some People.

Really? What Did You Cost Me Again? I Ask. A Lot Of Trouble. Don't Worry. You'll Get It All Back,he Says.