Some Walks You Have To Take Alone.

One Night, I Was Lying In Bed, And I Was Channel Surfing Between Reality Tv Programs And Actual War Coverage. On One Channel, There's A Group Of Young People Competing For I Don't Even Know; And On The Next, There's A Group Of Young People Fighting In An Actual War. I Was Really Tired, And The Lines Between These Stories Started To Blur In A Very Unsettling Way. That's The Moment When Katniss's Story Came To Me.

You Can’t Miss Your Schedule. Every Morning, You’re Supposed To Stick Your Right Arm In This Contraption In The Wall. It Tattoos The Smooth Inside Of Your Forearm With Your Schedule For The Day In A Sickly Purple Ink. 7:00—breakfast. 7:30—kitchen Duties. 8:30—education Center, Room 17. And So On. The Ink Is Indelible Until 22:00—bathing

That's When I Hear The Scream. So Full Of Fear And Pain It Ices My Blood. And So Familiar. I Drop The Spile, Forget Where I Am Or What Lies Ahead, Only Know I Must Reach Her, Protect Her. I Run Wildly In The Direction Of The Voice, Heedless Of Danger, Ripping Through Vines And Branches, Through Anything That Keeps Me From Reaching Her. From Reaching My Little Sister.

You Call That A Kiss?

The Rules Of The Hunger Games Are Simple. In Punishment For The Uprising, Each Of The Twelve Districts Must Provide One Girl And One Boy, Called Tributes, To Participate. The Twenty-four Tributes Will Be Imprisoned In A Vast Outdoor Arena That Could Hold Anything From A Burning Desert To A Frozen Wasteland. Over A Period Of Several Weeks, The Competitors Must Fight To The Death. The Last Tribute Standing Wins.