There Are Much Worse Games To Play.

They Can Pump Whatever They Want Into My Arm But It Takes More Than That To Keep A Person Going Once She's Lost The Will To Live.

Hey, Look At This!" He Holds Up A Glistening, Perfect Pearl About The Size Of A Pea. "you Know, If You Put Enough Pressure On Coal It Turns To Pearls," He Says Earnestly To Finnick. "no, It Doesn't," Says Finnick Dismissively. But I Crack Up, Remembering That's How A Clueless Effie Trinket Presented Us To The People Of The Capitol Last Year, Before Anyone Knew Us. As Coal Pressured Into Pearls By Our Weighty Existence. Beauty That Arose Out Of Pain.

We Each Get Fifteen Minutes Before The Gamemakers To Amaze Them With Our Skills, But I Don't Know What Any Of Us Might Have To Show Them. There's A Lot Of Kidding About It At Lunch. What We Might Do. Sing, Dance, Strip, Tell Jokes. Mags, Who I Can Understand A Little Better Now, Decides She's Just Going To Take A Nap.

Hey, Effie, Watch This!" Says Peeta. He Tosses His Fork Over His Shoulder And Literally Licks His Plate Clean Whit His Tongue Making Loud, Satisfied Sounds. Then He Blows A Kiss Out To Her In General And Calls, "we Miss You, Effie!

Once I'm On My Feet I Realize Escape Might Not Be So Easy.