My Guess Is That Fearful Events Are

She Reaches In, Digs Her Hand Deep Into The Ball, And Pulls Out A Slip Of Paper. The Crowd Draws In A Collective Breath, And Then You Can Hear A Pin Drop, And I'm Feeling Nauseous And So Desperately Hoping That It's Not Me, That It's Not Me, That It's Not Me. Effie Trinket Crosses Back To The Podium, Smoothes The Slip Of Paper, And Reads Out The Name In A Clear Voice. And It's Not Me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

And While I Was Talking, The Idea Of Actually Losing Peeta Hit Me Again And I Realized How Much I Don't Want Him To Die. And It's Not About The Sponsors. And It's Not About What Will Happen When We Get Home. And It's Not Just That I Don't Want To Be Alone. It's Him. I Do Not Want To Lose The Boy With The Bread.

That Was The First Time I Ever Saw Him Smile. It Transformed Him From Someone Menacing To Someone You Wished You Knew.

We Star-crossed Lovers Of District 12, Who Suffered So Much And Enjoyed So Little The Rewards Of Our Victory, Do Not Seek Our Fans' Favor, Grace Them With Our Smiles, Or Catch Their Kisses. We Are Unforgiving. And I Love It. Getting To Be Myself At Last.

Something Inside Me Shuts Down And I'm Too Numb To Feel Anything. It's Like Watching Complete Strangers In Another Hunger Games. But I Do Notice They Omit The Part Where I Covered Her In Flowers. Right. Because Even That Smacks Of Rebellion.