Peeta Bakes. I Hunt. Haymitch

My Spirit. This Is A New Thought. I'm Not Sure Exactly What It Means, But It Suggests I'm A Fighter. In A Sort Of Brave Way. It's Not As If I'm Never Friendly. Okay, Maybe I Don't Go Around Loving Everybody I Meet, Maybe My Smiles Are Hard To Come By, But I Do Care For Some People.

The Bird, The Pin, The Song, The Berries, The Watch, The Cracker, The Dress That Burst Into Flames. I Am The Mockingjay. The One That Survived Despite The Capitol's Plans. The Symbol Of The Rebellion.

She Reaches In, Digs Her Hand Deep Into The Ball, And Pulls Out A Slip Of Paper. The Crowd Draws In A Collective Breath, And Then You Can Hear A Pin Drop, And I'm Feeling Nauseous And So Desperately Hoping That It's Not Me, That It's Not Me, That It's Not Me. Effie Trinket Crosses Back To The Podium, Smoothes The Slip Of Paper, And Reads Out The Name In A Clear Voice. And It's Not Me. It's Primrose Everdeen.

Warmblood Now A Bloodborne Death, Will Rob Your Body Of It's Breath Mark Your Skin And Seal Your Fate The Underland Becomes A Plate

I Take His Hand, Holding On Tightly, Preparing For The Cameras, And Dreading The Moment When I Will Finally Have To Let Go.