I’m In Pain. That’s The Only Way

Your Favorite Colour . . . It's Green?" "that's Right." Then I Think Of Something To Add. "and Yours Is Orange." "orange?" He Seems Unconvinced. "not Bright Orange. But Soft. Like The Sunset," I Say. "at Least, That's What You Told Me Once." "oh." He Closes His Eyes Briefly, Maybe Trying To Conjure Up That Sunset, Then Nods His Head. "thank You." But More Words Tumble Out. "you're A Painter. You're A Baker. You Like To Sleep With The Windows Open. You Never Take Sugar In Your Tea. And You Always Double-knot Your Shoelaces.

Of Course You Are. The Tributes Were Necessary To The Games, Too. Until They Weren't," I Say. "and Then We Were Very Disposable - Right, Plutarch?

The Damage, The Fatigue, The Imperfections. That's How They Recognize Me; Why I Belong To Them.

As Long As You Can Find Yourself, You’ll Never Starve.

I Swing My Arms To Loosen Myself Up. Place My Fists On My Hips. Then Drop Them To My Sides. Saliva's Filling My Mouth At A Ridiculous Rate And I Feel Vomit At The Back Of My Throat. I Swallow Hard And Open My Lips So I Can Get The Stupid Line Out And Go Hide In The Woods And-that's When I Start Crying.