Crying Is Not An Option.

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 Play In The Meadow. The Dancing Girl With The Dark Hair And Blue Eyes. The Boy With Blond Curls And Gray Eyes, Struggling To Keep Up With Her On His Chubby Toddler Legs. It Took Five, Ten, Fifteen Years For Me To Agree. But Peeta Wanted Them So Badly. When I First Felt Her Stirring Inside Of Me, I Was Consumed With A Terror That Felt As Old As Life Itself. Only The Joy Of Holding Her In My Arms Could Tame It.

Closing My Eyes Doesn't Help. Fire Burns Brighter In The Darkness.

I'll Never Know What It Was He Wanted Me To Remember.

What Do You Think?" He Asks. "i Hate Them," I Say. I Can Almost Smell The Blood, The Dirt, The Unnatural Breath Of The Mutt. "all I Do Is Go Around Trying To Forget The Arena And You've Brought It Back To Life. How Do You Remember These Things So Exactly?" "i See Them Every Night," He Says.