If He Goes And Dies On Me

My Mockingjay Pin Now Lives With Cinna's Outfit, But There's The Gold Locket And The Silver Parachute With The Spile And Peeta's Pearl. I Knot The Pearl Into The Corner Of The Parachute, Bury It Deep In The Recesses Of The Bag, As If It's Peeta's Life And No One Can Take It Away As Long As I Guard It.

There's No Point In Comforting Words, In Telling Her She'll Be All Right. She's No Fool. Her Hand Reaches Out And I Clutch It Like A Lifeline. As If It's Me Who's Dying Instead Of Rue.

When I Wake, I Have A Brief, Delicious Feeling Of Happiness That Is Somehow Connected With Peeta. Happiness, Of Course, Is A Complete Absurdity At This Point, Since At The Rate Things Are Going, I'll Be Dead In A Day. And That's The Best-case Scenario, If I'm Able To Eliminate The Rest Of The Field, Including Myself, And Get Peeta Crowned As The Winner Of The Quarter Quell. Still, The Sensation's So Unexpected And Sweet I Cling To It, If Only For A Few Moments. Before The Gritty Sand, The Hot Sun, And My Itching Skin Demand A Return To Reality.

Trapped For Days, Years, Centuries Maybe. Dead, But Not Allowed To Die. Alive, But As Good As Dead. So Alone That Anyone, Anything No Matter How Loathsome Would Be Welcome.

Roses. Wolf Mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything Screams In My Dreams Tonight.