Stupid People Are Dangerous.

And Then, When He’s Been Underwater So Long I Feel Certain He’s Drowned, His Head Pops Up Right Next To Me And I Start. “don’t Do That,” I Say. “what? Come Up Or Stay Under?” He Says. “either. Neither. Whatever

He Tilts His Forehead Down To Rest Against Mine And Pulls Me Closer. His Skin, His Whole Being Radiates Heat From Being So Near The Fire, And I Close My Eyes, Soaking In His Warmth. I Breathe In The Smell Of Snow-dampened Leather And Smoke And Apples, The Smell Of All Those Wintry Days We Shared Before The Games. I Don't Try To Move Away. Why Should I Anyway? His Voice Drops To A Whisper. "i Love You." That's Why.

Just The Perfect Touch Of Rebellion," Says Haymitch "very Nice." Rebellion?

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.

So We Both Strip Off Our Boots And Socks And, While There’s Some Improvement, I Could Swear He’s Making An Effort To Snap Every Branch We Encounter