They Don't Know That I'm Already Asking

Greeting To The Final Contestants Of The Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The Earlier Revision Has Been Revoked. Closer Examination Of The Rule Book Has Disclosed That Only One Winner May Be Allowed," He Says. "good Luck And May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor.

Whose Is It, Do You Think?" I Say Finally. "no Telling," Says Finnick. "why Don't We Let Peeta Claim It, Since He Died Today?

I Drink In His Wholeness, The Soudness Of His Body And Mind. It Runs Through Me Like The Morphling They Give Me In The Hospital, Dulling The Pain Of The Last Weeks.

Orange? Like Effie's Hair?" I Say. "a Bit More Muted," He Says. "more Like Sunset.

The Raw Hunk Of Meat That Used To Be My Enemy Makes A Sound, And I Know Where The Mouth Is. And I Think The Word He's Trying To Say Is 'please'. Pity, Not Vengeance Sends My Arrow Flying Into His Skull.