It Starts At Midnight.

What Do You Think?" He Asks. "i Hate Them," I Say. I Can Almost Smell The Blood, The Dirt, The Unnatural Breath Of The Mutt. "all I Do Is Go Around Trying To Forget The Arena And You've Brought It Back To Life. How Do You Remember These Things So Exactly?" "i See Them Every Night," He Says.

What I Need Is The Dandelion In The Spring. The Bright Yellow That Means Rebirth Instead Of Destruction. The Promise That Life Can Go On, No Matter How Bad Our Losses. That It Can Be Good Again.

Sometimes, When I Clean A Kill, I Feed Buttercup The Entrails. He Has Stopped Hissing At Me. Entrails. No Hissing. This Is The Closest We Will Ever Come To Love.

Peeta Looks Me Right In The Eye And Gives My Hand What I Think Is Meant To Be A Reassuring Squeeze. Maybe It's Just A Nervous Spasm.

You're Not Afraid I'll Kill You Tonight?" "like I Couldn't Take You.