It's Weird, How Much He's Noticed Me...

It's More Complicated Than That. I Know Them. They're Not Evil Or Cruel. They're Not Even Smart. Hurting Them, It's Like Hurting Children.

I Go Back To My Room And Lie Under The Covers, Trying Not To Think Of Gale And Thinking Of Nothing Else.

Aren't They The Very Reason I Have To Try To Fight? Because What Has Been Done To Them Is So Wrong, So Beyond Justification, So Evil That There Is No Choice? Because No One Has The Right To Treat Them As They Have Been Treated?

Yes, And I’m Sure The Arena Will Be Full Of Bags Of Flour For Me To Chuck At People.

I Flee What I Can't Fight. What Can Only Do Me Harm.