They'll Either Want To Kill You, Kiss

Mutually Counting On Each Other, Watching Each Other's Backs, Forcing Each Other To Be Brave.

I Swing My Arms To Loosen Myself Up. Place My Fists On My Hips. Then Drop Them To My Sides. Saliva's Filling My Mouth At A Ridiculous Rate And I Feel Vomit At The Back Of My Throat. I Swallow Hard And Open My Lips So I Can Get The Stupid Line Out And Go Hide In The Woods And-that's When I Start Crying.

Let The Seventy-forth Hunger Games Begin, Cato, I Think. Let Them Begin For Real.

What Must It Be Like, I Wonder, To Live In A World Where Food Appears At The Press Of A Button? How Would I Spend The Hours I Now Commit To Combing The Woods For Sustenance If It Were So Easy To Come By? What Do They Do All Day, These People In The Capitol, Besides Decorating Their Bodies And Waiting Around For A New Shipment Of Tributes To Rill In And Die For Their Entertainment?

Why Am I Hopping Around Like Some Trained Dog Trying To Please People I Hate?