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.
If he wants me broken, then I will have to be whole.
Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out.
We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.
Don't let him take you from me.
Instead, I watch myself get shot on television.
Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.
I merely feel emptyness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers use to bloom.
Maybe everyone is just trying to protect me by lying to me. I don't care. I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good.
They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.
But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts.
If there's a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you love who's trapped underground, I don't know it.
Please feel free to take this personally.
What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?
Eyes on the forest, not on the trees.
It's like a game. Repetitive. but there are much worse games to play.
Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do. Especially if the target is unprepared.
A need for revenge can burn long and hot. Especially if every glance in a mirror reinforces it.
I miss home badly sometimes. But then I remember there's nothing left to miss anymore. I feel safer here.
Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings.
They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it.
But I don't know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away.
Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.
What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy.
Fire burns brighter in the darkness
It's more complicated than that. I know them. They're not evil or cruel. They're not even smart. Hurting them, it's like hurting children.
The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us.
A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper-these could easily evaporate . . . .
I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.
More Suzanne Collins Quotations (Based on Topics)
Mind - Time - People - Faces - Thought & Thinking - Games - Nature - Death & Dying - Love - Life - Hope - Sense & Perception - Friendship - Home - World - Hair - Pain - Mothers - Food - View All Suzanne Collins Quotations
More Suzanne Collins Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Catching Fire
- The Hunger Games
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