If I'm Going To Die, I Want

Because I'm Selfish. I'm A Coward. I'm The Kind Of Girl Who, When She Might Actually Be Of Use, Would Run To Stay Alive And Leave Those Who Couldn't Follow To Suffer And Die.

I Raise My Left Arm And Twist My Neck Down To Rip Off The Pill On My Sleeve. Instead My Teeth Sink Into Flesh. I Yank My Head Back In Confusion To Find Myself Looking Into Peeta’s Eyes, Only Now They Hold My Gaze. Blood Runs From The Teeth Marks On The Hand He Clamped Over My Nightlock. “let Me Go!” I Snarl At Him, Trying To Wrest My Arm From His Grasp. “i Can’t,” He Says.

Hey, Effie, Watch This!" Says Peeta. He Tosses His Fork Over His Shoulder And Literally Licks His Plate Clean Whit His Tongue Making Loud, Satisfied Sounds. Then He Blows A Kiss Out To Her In General And Calls, "we Miss You, Effie!

The Main Thing I Feel Is A Sense Of Relief. That I Can Give Up This Game. That The Question Of Whether I Can Succeed In This Venture Has Been Answered, Even If That Answer Is A Resounding No. That If Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures, I Am Free To Act As Desperately As I Want.

We Each Get Fifteen Minutes Before The Gamemakers To Amaze Them With Our Skills, But I Don't Know What Any Of Us Might Have To Show Them. There's A Lot Of Kidding About It At Lunch. What We Might Do. Sing, Dance, Strip, Tell Jokes. Mags, Who I Can Understand A Little Better Now, Decides She's Just Going To Take A Nap.