I Am Not Pretty. I Am Not

All I Can Think Of Is The Emaciated Bodies Of Children On Our Kitchen Table As My Mother Prescribes What The Parent's Can't Give. More Food.

Some Walks You Have To Take Alone.

If You Appeal To The Crowd, Either By Being Humorous Or Brutal Or Eccentric, You Gain Favor.

Charred Bits Of Black Silk Swirl Into The Air, And Pearls Clatter To The Stage… I’m In A Dress Of The Exact Design Of My Wedding Dress, Only It’s The Color Of Coal And Made Of Tiny Feathers. Wonderingly, I Lift My Long, Flowing Sleeves Into The Air, And That’s When I See Myself On The Television Screen. Clothed In Black Except For The White Patches On My Sleeves. Or Should I Say My Wings. Because Cinna Had Turned Me Into A Mockingjay.

"katniss?" He Drops My Hand And I Take A Step, As If To Catch My Balance. "it Was All For The Games," Peeta Says. "how You Acted." "not All Of It," I Say, Tightly Holding Onto My Flowers. "then How Much? No, Forget That. I Guess The Real Question Is What's Going To Be Left When We Get Home?" He Says. "i Don't Know. The Closer We Get To District Twelve, The More Confused I Get," I Say. He Waits, For Further Explanation, But None's Forthcoming. "well, Let Me Know When You Work It Out," He Says, And The Pain In His Voice Is Palpable.