Closing My Eyes Doesn't Help. Fire Burns

In Stark Contrast To Two Nights Ago, When I Felt Peeta Was A Million Miles Away, I'm Struck By His Immediacy Now. As We Settle In, He Pulls My Head Down To Use His Arm As A Pillow; The Other Rests Protectively Over Me Even When He Goes To Sleep. No One Has Held Me Like This In Such A Long Time. Since My Father Died And I Stopped Trusting My Mother, No One Else's Arms Have Made Me Feel This Safe.

Where Did They Get Those Screams, Katniss?

But Between The Images, We Are Privy To The Real-life Action Being Played Out On The Set. Peeta's Attempt To Continue Speaking. The Camera Knocked Down To Record The White Tiled Floor. The Scuffle Of Boots. The Impact Of The Blow That's Inseparable From Peeta's Cry Of Pain. And His Blood As It Splatters The Tiles.

They'll Be Granted Immunity!" I Feel Myself Rising From My Chair, My Voice Full Of Resonant. "you Will Personally Pledge This In Front Of The Entire Population Of District Thirteen And The Remainder Of Twelve. Soon. Today. It Will Be Recorded For Future Generations. You Will Hold Yourself And Your Government Responsible For Their Safety, Or You'll Find Yourself Another Mockingjay!

A Light Was On In The Kitchen. His Mother Sat At The Kitchen Table, As Still As A Statue. Her Hands Were Clasped Together, And She Stared Fixatedly At A Small Stain On The Tablecloth. Gregor Remembered Seeing Her That Way So Many Nights After His Dad Had Disappeared. He Didn't Know What To Say. He Didn't Want To Scare Her Or Shock Her Or Ever Give Her Any More Pain. So, He Stepped Into The Light Of The Kitchen And Said The One Thing He Knew She Wanted To Hear Most In The World. "hey, Mom. We're Home.