Crying Is Not An Option.

I Search His Eyes For The Slightest Sign Of Anything, Fear, Remorse, Anger. But There's Only The Same Look Of Amusement That Ended Our Last Conversation. It's As If He's Speaking The Words Again. "oh, My Dear Miss Everdeen. I Thought We Had Agreed Not To Lie To Each Other." He's Right. We Did. The Point Of My Arrow Shifts Upward. I Release The String. And President Coin Collapses Over The Side Of The Balcony And Plunges To The Ground. Dead.

My Voice, At First Rough And Breaking On The High Notes, Warms Up Into Something Splendid. A Voice That Would Make The Mockingjays Fall Silent And Then Tumble Over Themselves To Join In.

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

Never Underestimate The Power Of A Brillian Stylist.

Flight Is Essential, But I Can't Let My Fear Show.