How About You, Mockingjay? You Feel Totally

One More Time? For The Audience?" He Says. His Voice Isn't Angry. It's Hollow, Which Is Worse. Already The Boy With The Bread Is Slipping Away From Me. I Take His Hand, Holding On Tightly, Preparing For The Cameras, And Dreading The Moment When I Will Finally Have To Let Go.

Then, In My Most Careful Handwriting, Come All The Details It Would Be A Crime To Forget. Lady Licking Prim's Cheek. My Father's Laugh. Peeta's Father With The Cookies. The Colour Of Finnick's Eyes. What Cinna Could Do With A Length Of Silk. Boggs Reprogramming The Holo. Rue Poised On Her Toes, Arms Slightly Extended, Like A Bird About To Take Flight. On And On. We Seal The Pages With Salt Water And Promises To Live Well To Make Their Death Count.

So I Thought If I Stopped Being So, You Know, Wounded, We Could Take A Shot At Just Being Friends. - Peeta Mellark

The Numbness Of His Loss Had Passed, And The Pain Would Hit Me Out Of Nowhere, Doubling Me Over, Racking My Body With Sobs. Where Are You? I Would Cry Out In My Mind. Where Have You Gone? Of Course, There Was Never Any Answer.

I'm Not A Very Fancy Person. I've Been A Writer A Long Time, And Right Now 'the Hunger Games' Is Getting A Lot Of Focus. It'll Pass. The Focus Will Be On Something Else. It'll Shift. It Always Does. And That Seems Just Fine.