Whatever It Takes To Break You.

Peeta Looks Me Right In The Eye And Gives My Hand What I Think Is Meant To Be A Reassuring Squeeze. Maybe It's Just A Nervous Spasm.

Your Favorite Colour . . . It's Green?" "that's Right." Then I Think Of Something To Add. "and Yours Is Orange." "orange?" He Seems Unconvinced. "not Bright Orange. But Soft. Like The Sunset," I Say. "at Least, That's What You Told Me Once." "oh." He Closes His Eyes Briefly, Maybe Trying To Conjure Up That Sunset, Then Nods His Head. "thank You." But More Words Tumble Out. "you're A Painter. You're A Baker. You Like To Sleep With The Windows Open. You Never Take Sugar In Your Tea. And You Always Double-knot Your Shoelaces.

You Know, You Could Live A Thousand Lifetimes And Not Deserve Him.

Listen Up. You're In Trouble. Word Is The Capitol's Furious About You Showing Them Up In The Arena. The One Thing They Can't Stand Is Being Laughed At And They're The Joke Of Panem

In One Horrible Moment The Last Piece Of The Prophecy Became Clear. So Bid Him Take Care, Bid Him Look Where He Leaps, As Life May Be Death And Death Life Again Reaps. He Had To Leap, And By His Death, The Others Would Live. That Was It. That Was What Sandwich Had Been Trying To Say All Along, And By Now He Believed In Sandwich. He Put On A Final Burst Of Speed, Just Like The Coach Taught Him In Track. He Gave Everything He Had. In The Last Few Steps Before The Canyon He Felt A Sharp Pain In The Back Of His Leg, And Then The Ground Gave Way Under His Feet. Gregor The Overlander Leaped.