I'm Running On Hate. When The Energy

I'm Not A Very Fancy Person. I've Been A Writer A Long Time, And Right Now 'the Hunger Games' Is Getting A Lot Of Focus. It'll Pass. The Focus Will Be On Something Else. It'll Shift. It Always Does. And That Seems Just Fine.

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.

I Can Almost Hear Haymitch Groaning As I Team Up With This Wispy Child. But I Want Her. Because She's A Survivor, And I Trust Her, And Why Not Admit It? She Reminds Me Of Prim.

I Don’t Know What The Explosion Did, But It Damaged Something Deep And Irreparable. Never Mind. If I Get Home, I’ll Be So Stinking Rich, I’ll Be Able To Pay Someone To Do My Hearing.

Maybe I'd Think That, Too, Caesar," Says Petta Bitterly, "if It Weren't For The Baby." There. He's Done It Again.