I Really Can't Think About Kissing When

The Question Is, What Are You Going To Do?" It Turns Out The Question That's Been Eating Away At Me Has Only Ever Had One Possible Answer. But It Took Peeta's Ploy For Me To Recognize It. What Am I Going To Do? I Take A Deep Breath. My Arms Rise Slightly - As If Recalling The Black-and-white Wings Cinna Gave Me - Then Come To Rest At My Sides. "i'm Going To Be The Mockingjay.

The Idea Of Being Strong For Someone Else Having Never Entered Their Heads, I Find Myself In The Position Of Having To Console Them. Since I'm The Person Going In To Be Slaughtered, This Is Somewhat Annoying.

Winning The Games Will Make You Famous, Losing Will Mean Death.

It's Funny, Because Even Though They're Rattling On About The Games, It's All About Where They Were Or What They Were Doing Or How They Felt When A Specific Event Occurred. . . . Everything Is About Them, Not The Dying Boys And Girls In The Arena

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.