Maybe I'll Be Like The Man In

Behind A Rack Of Framed Photos Of Snow, We Encounter A Wounded Peacekeeper Propped Up Against A Strip Of Brick Wall. He Asks Us For Help. Gale Knees Him In The Side Of The Head And Takes His Gun.

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.

Winning The Games Will Make You Famous, Losing Will Mean Death.

Peeta Crouches Down On The Other Side Of Her And Strokes Her Hair. When He Begins To Speak In A Soft Voice, It Seems Almost Nonsensical, But The Words Aren’t For Me. “with My Paint Box At Home, I Can Make Every Color Imaginable. Pink. As Pale As A Baby’s Skin. Or As Deep As Rhubarb. Green Like Spring Grass. Blue That Shimmers Like Ice On Water.

He Hates Me More," Says Peeta. "i Don't Think People In General Are His Sort Of Thing.