By The Way, I Know About The

Sometimes When I'm Alone, I Take The Pearl From Where It Lives In My Pocket And Try To Remember The Boy With The Bread, The Strong Arms That Warded Off Nightmares On The Train, The Kisses In The Arena.

Most Rats Read. Our Frustration Is, We Cannot Hold A Pen To Write.

But In My Head I Can Hear Haymitch's Smug, If Slightly Exasperated, Words: "yes, That's What I'm Looking For, Sweetheart.

Because I Can Count On My Fingers The Number Of Sunsets I Have Left, And I Don't Want To Miss Any Of Them.

Aren't They The Very Reason I Have To Try To Fight? Because What Has Been Done To Them Is So Wrong, So Beyond Justification, So Evil That There Is No Choice? Because No One Has The Right To Treat Them As They Have Been Treated?