It Is A Perfect Weapon

I'm Not Good At Talking About Myself.

Peeta, You Were Supposed To Wake Me After A Couple Of Hours," I Say. "for What? Nothing's Going On Here," He Says. "besides, I Like Watching You Sleep. You Don't Scowl. Improves Your Looks A Lot." This, Of Course, Brings On A Scowl That Makes Him Grin.

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.

Something Keeps Me Moving Forward, Though. A Lifetime Of Watching The Hunger Games Lets Me Know That Certain Areas Of The Arena Are Rigged For Certain Attacks. And That If I Can Just Get Away From This Section, I Might Be Able To Move Out Of Reach Of The Launchers. I Might Also Then Fall Straight Into A Pit Of Vipers, But I Can't Worry About That Now.

Want A Sugar Cube? [...] They're Supposed To Be For The Horses, But Who Cares? They've Got Years To Eat Sugar, Whereas You And I . . . Well, If We See Something Sweet We Better Grab It Quick. [...] You're Absolutely Terrifying Me In That Get-up. What Happened To The Pretty Little-girl Dresses?