Sorry Excuses For Hunters And Friends. Both

I Know. I Was Hoping," I Say. "exactly. Because You're Desperate," Says Haymitch. I Don't Argue Because, Of Course, He's Right.

I'm Unaware That My Feet Are Moving To The Table Until I'm Inches From The Holograph. My Hand Reaches In And Cups A Rapidly Blinking Green Light. Someone Joins Me, His Body Tense. Finnick, Of Course. Because Only A Victor Would See What I See So Immediately. The Arena. Laced With Pods Controlled By Gamemakers. Finnick's Fingers Caress A Steady Red Glow Over A Doorway. "ladies And Gentlemen..." His Voice Is Quiet, But Mine Rings Through The Room. "let The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games Begin!

So We Both Strip Off Our Boots And Socks And, While There’s Some Improvement, I Could Swear He’s Making An Effort To Snap Every Branch We Encounter

Taking The Kids From Our Districts, Forcing Them To Kill One Another While We Watch – This Is The Capitol’s Way Of Reminding Us How Totally We Are At Their Mercy.

I Don't Want To Cry. Everyone Will Make Note Of My Tears And I'll Be Marked As An Easy Target. A Weakling. I Will Give No One That Satisfaction.