No One Knows What To Do With

I Search His Eyes For The Slightest Sign Of Anything, Fear, Remorse, Anger. But There's Only The Same Look Of Amusement That Ended Our Last Conversation. It's As If He's Speaking The Words Again. "oh, My Dear Miss Everdeen. I Thought We Had Agreed Not To Lie To Each Other." He's Right. We Did. The Point Of My Arrow Shifts Upward. I Release The String. And President Coin Collapses Over The Side Of The Balcony And Plunges To The Ground. Dead.

It's Not Easy To Find A Topic. Talking Of Home Is Painful. Talking Of The Present Unbearable.

My Name Is Katniss Everdeen. I Am Seventeen Years Old. My Home Is District 12. I Was In The Hunger Games. I Escaped. The Capitol Hates Me.

I Know We Promised Haymitch, We'd Do Exactly What They Said, But I Don't Think He Considered This Angle.' 'where Is Haymitch, Anyway? Isn't He Supposed To Protect Us From This Sort Of Thing?' Says Peeta. 'with All That Alcohol In Him, It's Probably Not Advisable To Have Him Around An Open Flame,' I Say.

I Reach Out To Touch His Cheek And He Catches My Hand And Presses It Against His Lips.