Everything Is Happening Too Fast For Me

What? My Head Doctor Says I'm Not Supposed To Censor My Thoughts. It's Part Of My Therapy.

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.

As We Curve Around Into The Loop Of The City Circle, I Can See That A Couple Of Other Stylists Have Tried To Steal Cinna And Portia's Idea Of Illuminating Their Tributes. The Electric-light-studded Outfits From District 3, Where They Make Electronics, At Least Make Sense. But What Are The Livestock Keepers From Distric 10, Who Are Dressed As Cows, Doing With Flaming Belts? Broiling Themselves? Pathetic.

If The Careers Want Me, Let Them Find Me.

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.