So, Here’s What You Do. You Win,

The Numbness Of His Loss Had Passed, And The Pain Would Hit Me Out Of Nowhere, Doubling Me Over, Racking My Body With Sobs. Where Are You? I Would Cry Out In My Mind. Where Have You Gone? Of Course, There Was Never Any Answer.

He Felt Around Desperately For A Weapon. What Did He Have? Diapers? Cookies? Oh, Why Hadn't They Given Him A Sword? He Was The Stupid Warrior, Wasn't He? His Fingers Dug In The Leather Bag And Closed Around The Root Beer Can. Root Beer! He Yanked Out The Can Shaking It With All His Might. "attack! Attack!" He Yelled.

Hey, Finnick, Come On In! We Figured Out How To Make You Pretty Again!

The Idea Of Being Strong For Someone Else Having Never Entered Their Heads, I Find Myself In The Position Of Having To Console Them. Since I'm The Person Going In To Be Slaughtered, This Is Somewhat Annoying.

The Berries. I Realize The Answer To Who I Am Lies In That Handful Of Poisonous Fruit. If I Held Them Out To Save Peeta Because I Knew I Would Be Shunned If I Came Back Without Him, Then I Am Despicable. If I Held Them Out Because I Loved Him, I Am Still Self-centered, Although Forgivable. But If I Held Them Out To Defy The Capitol, I Am Someone Of Worth. The Trouble Is, I Don't Know Exactly What Was Going On Inside Me At That Moment.