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
Yes, it's your fault I'm alive.
Highly unlikely but not impossible.
Look, if you wanted to be babied you should have asked Peeta.
You're hideous, you know that, right?
I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things.
Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots.
They don't know that I'm already asking for the moon.
But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.
I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence.
My mother says healers are born, not made.
The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life.
A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist.
I look coolly in to the blue eyes of the person who is now my greatest opponent, the person who would keep me alive at his own expense. And I promise myself I will defeat his plan.
So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.
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.
Glimmer, I hear someone call her - ugh, the names the people in District 1 give their children are so ridiculous ...
I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.
Only.. I want to do die as myself
Tonight. After the reaping, everyone is supposed to celebrate. And a a lot of people do, out of relief that their children have been spared for another year. But at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors, and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.
But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down.
In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. Instead I learned to hunt.
They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.
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.
And may the odds be ever in your favour
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