Whenever I Write A Story, I Hope

That Was The One Thing I Had Going For Me. Taking Care Of Your Family.

One More Time? For The Audience?" He Says. His Voice Isn't Angry. It's Hollow, Which Is Worse. Already The Boy With The Bread Is Slipping Away From Me. I Take His Hand, Holding On Tightly, Preparing For The Cameras, And Dreading The Moment When I Will Finally Have To Let Go.

If I Feel Ragged, My Prep Team Seems In Worse Condition, Knocking Back Coffee And Sharing Brightly Colored Little Pills. As Far As I Can Tell, They Never Get Up Before Noon Unless There's Some Sort Of National Emergency, Like My Leg Hair.

I'm Not Good At Talking About Myself.

Katniss, I Don't Think President Snow Will Kill Peeta. If He Does, He Won't Have Any Way To Hurt You." "so, What Do You Think They'll Do To Him?" I Ask. "whatever It Takes To Break You.