If You Had Hope, Maybe You Could

"katniss," Gale Says Softly. I Recognize That Voice. It's The Same One He Uses To Approach Wounded Animals Before He Delivers A Deathblow. I Instinctively Raise My Hand To Block His Words But He Catches It And Holds On Tightly. "don't," I Whisper. But Gale Is Not One To Keep Secrets From Me. "katniss, There Is No District Twelve."

But Just The Fact That He Was Sparkling Leads Me To Doubt Everything That Happened.

And Then There Was Tick. Brave Little Tick, Who Had Flown Into The Faces Of An Army Of Rats To Save His Baby Sister. Tick - Who Never Spoke Much. Tick - Who Shared Her Food. Tick - Who Was After All Just A Roach. Just A Roach Who Had Given All The Time She Had Left So That Boots Could Have More. Gregor Pressed Boots's Fingers Against His Lips And Felt Scalding Tears Begin To Slide Down His Cheeks. He Hadn't Cried, Not The Whole Time He'd Been Down Here, And There Had Been Plenty Of Bad Stuff. But Somehow Tick's Sacrifice Had Crushed Whatever Thin Shell Remained Between Him And Sorrow.

You Can’t Miss Your Schedule. Every Morning, You’re Supposed To Stick Your Right Arm In This Contraption In The Wall. It Tattoos The Smooth Inside Of Your Forearm With Your Schedule For The Day In A Sickly Purple Ink. 7:00—breakfast. 7:30—kitchen Duties. 8:30—education Center, Room 17. And So On. The Ink Is Indelible Until 22:00—bathing

Girl Talk. That Thing I've Always Been So Bad At.