Just The Perfect Touch Of Rebellion," Says

The Question Is, What Are You Going To Do?" It Turns Out The Question That's Been Eating Away At Me Has Only Ever Had One Possible Answer. But It Took Peeta's Ploy For Me To Recognize It. What Am I Going To Do? I Take A Deep Breath. My Arms Rise Slightly - As If Recalling The Black-and-white Wings Cinna Gave Me - Then Come To Rest At My Sides. "i'm Going To Be The Mockingjay.

When I Wake, I Have A Brief, Delicious Feeling Of Happiness That Is Somehow Connected With Peeta. Happiness, Of Course, Is A Complete Absurdity At This Point, Since At The Rate Things Are Going, I'll Be Dead In A Day. And That's The Best-case Scenario, If I'm Able To Eliminate The Rest Of The Field, Including Myself, And Get Peeta Crowned As The Winner Of The Quarter Quell. Still, The Sensation's So Unexpected And Sweet I Cling To It, If Only For A Few Moments. Before The Gritty Sand, The Hot Sun, And My Itching Skin Demand A Return To Reality.

What Was That You Were Saying Just Before The Food Arrived? Something About Me... No Competition... Best Thing That Ever Happened To You.

But Just Before They Cut Back To The Main Newscaster, I See The Unmistakable Flash Of That Same Mockingjay's Wing. The Reporter Has Simply Been Incorporated Into The Old Footage. She's Not In District 13 At All. Which Begs The Question, What Is?

Exactly How Am I Supposed To Work In A Thank-you In There? Somehow It Just Won't Seem Sincere If I'm Trying To Slit His Throat.