Deep In The Meadow , Under The

But Collective Thinking Is Usually Short-lived. We're Fickle, Stupid Beings With Poor Memories And A Great Gift For Self-destruction.

I Think We Put Our Children At An Enormous Disadvantage By Not Educating Them In War, By Not Letting Them Understand About It At An Early Age.

Four People Wheel Out A Huge Wedding Cake From A Side Room. Most Of The Guests Back Up, Making Way For This Rarity, This Dazzling Creation With Blue-green, White-tipped Icing Waves Swimming With Fish And Sailboats, Seals And Sea Flowers. But I Push My Way Through The Crowd To Confirm What I Knew At First Sight. As Surely As The Embroidery Stitches In Annie's Gown Were Done By Cinna's Hand, The Frosted Flowers On The Cake Were Done By Peeta's.

It's There. The White Rose Among The Dried Flowers In The Vase. Shriveled And Fragile, But Holding On To That Unnatural Perfection Cultivated In Snows Greenhouse. I Grab The Vase, Stumble Down To The Kitchen, And Throw Its Contents Into The Embers. As The Flowers Flare Up, A Burst Of Blue Flame Envelops The Rose And Devours It. Fire Beats Roses Again.

And Some Small Gnarled Place Inside Me Hated Her For Her Weakness, For Her Neglect, For The Months She Had Put Us Through. I Had Taken A Step Back From My Mother, Put Up A Wall To Protect Myself From Needing Her, And Nothing Was Ever The Same Between Us Again.