As The Alcohol Overcomes My Mind, I

Sometimes, When I Clean A Kill, I Feed Buttercup The Entrails. He Has Stopped Hissing At Me. Entrails. No Hissing. This Is The Closest We Will Ever Come To Love.

But Mockingjays Were Never A Weapon," Said Madge. "they’re Just Songbirds. Right?" "yeah, I Guess So,” I Said, But It’s Not True. A Mockingbird Is Just A Songbird. A Mockingjay Is A Creature The Capitol Never Intended To Exist. They Hadn’t Counted On The Highly Controlled Jabberjay Having The Brains To Adapt To The Wild, To Thrive In A New Form. They Hadn’t Anticipated Its Will To Live.

I Squeeze My Eyes Shut And Try To Reach For Him Across The Hundreds And Hundreds Of Miles, To Send My Thoughts Into His Mind, To Let Him Know He Is Not Alone. But He Is. And I Can't Help Him.

Really, The Combination Of The Scabs And The Ointment Looks Hideous. I Can't Help Enjoying His Distress. "poor Finnick. Is This The First Time In Your Life You Haven't Looked Pretty?" I Say. "it Must Be. The Sensation's Completely New. How Have You Managed It All These Years?" He Asks. "just Avoid Mirrors. You'll Forget About It," I Say. "not If I Keep Looking At You," He Says.

Because I'm Selfish. I'm A Coward. I'm The Kind Of Girl Who, When She Might Actually Be Of Use, Would Run To Stay Alive And Leave Those Who Couldn't Follow To Suffer And Die.