Only.. I want to do die as myself
Only.. I want to do die as myself
Suddenly I am furious, that with my life on the line, they don't even have the decency to pay attention to me. That I'm being upstaged by a dead pig.
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.
You should wear flames more often. They suit you.
A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.
I mourn my old life here. We barely scraped by, but I knew where I fit in, I knew what my place was in the tightly interwoven fabric that was our life. I wish I could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seems so secure compared to now, when I am so rich and famous and so hated by the authorities in the capitol.
Just the sound of his voice twists my stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness and fear. And longing. I might as well admit there's some of that too.
So that's who Finnick loves, I think. Not his string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home.
While you live, the revolution lives
But after several hours, I go anyway, walking in silent sock feet, so as not to awaken the ghosts.
Haymitch in my head full-time. Horrifying
If there's a more helpless feeling than trying to reach someone you love who's trapped underground, I don't know it.
Katniss....he's still trying to keep you alive.
Please feel free to take this personally.
There are much worse games to play.
What will break me into a million pieces so that I am beyond repair, beyond usefulness?
Because when he sings...even the birds stop to listen.
Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.
I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I'm so grateful that he's here, not dead by the stream as I'd thought. So glad I don't have to face Cato alone.
I'm not good at talking about myself.
Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.
Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.
Thank you for you consideration
We follow instructions to my destination, a chamber for my preparation.
Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions.
Aim higher in case you fall short.
Great. Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts for my allies. He'll love that.
I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next...
Katniss, there is no District Twelve...
Something flickers across his bloodshot eyes. Pain.
You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know
But I don't know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
He never lets go of Annie's hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to.
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.
Knowing it and seeing it are two different things.
Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.
There's a chance that the old Peeta, the one who loves you, is still inside. Trying to get back to you. Don't give up on him.
What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy.
Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then.
Haymitch said you'd take a lot of convincing.
I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips.
I'm relieved Peeta's alive. I tell myself again that if I get killed, his winnings will benefit my mother and Prim the most. This is what I tell myself to explain the conflicting emotions that arise when I think of Peeta. The gratitude that he game an edge by professing his love for me in the interview. The anger at his superiority on the roof. The dread that we may come face-to-face at any moment in this arena.
May the odds be ever in your favor!
People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim. Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.
That should have been my strategy! By the time I've worked through the emotions of surprise, admiration, anger, jealousy, and frustration, I'm watching that reddish mane of hair disappear into the trees well out of shooting range.
We will not just be another piece in their games
You're not going to die. I forbid it.
All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parent's can't give. More food.
Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories