Instead, I Watch Myself Get Shot On

She’s Really Gone, Then. The Little Girl With The Back Of Her Shirt Sticking Out Like A Duck Tail, The One Who Needed Help Reaching The Dishes, And Who Begged To See The Frosted Cakes In The Bakery Window. Time And Tragedy Have Forced Her To Grow Too Quickly, At Least For My Taste, Into A Young Woman Who Stitches Bleeding Wounds And Knows Our Mother Can Hear Only So Much.

Yes, They Have To Have A Victor. Without A Victor, The Whole Thing Would Blow Up In The Gamemakers' Faces. They'd Have Failed The Capitol. Might Possibly Even Be Executed, Slowly And Painfully, While The Cameras Broadcast It To Every Screen In The Country.

You Can Tell By The Way The Girls Whisper About Him When He Walks By In School That They Want Him. It Makes Me Jealous But Not For The Reason People Would Think. Good Hunting Partners Are Hard To Find.

I Walk Around The Room Eating Goose Liver And Puffy Bread Until There's A Knock On The Door. Effie's Calling Me To Dinner. Good. I'm Starving.

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