I Pound On The Glass,

But Because Two Can Play At This Game, I Stand On Tiptoe And Kiss His Cheek. Right On His Bruise.

I'm Unaware That My Feet Are Moving To The Table Until I'm Inches From The Holograph. My Hand Reaches In And Cups A Rapidly Blinking Green Light. Someone Joins Me, His Body Tense. Finnick, Of Course. Because Only A Victor Would See What I See So Immediately. The Arena. Laced With Pods Controlled By Gamemakers. Finnick's Fingers Caress A Steady Red Glow Over A Doorway. "ladies And Gentlemen..." His Voice Is Quiet, But Mine Rings Through The Room. "let The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games Begin!

I Mean I Know It's Cold Out Here And Not Everybody Has A Sleeping Bag. But When You Grit Your Teeth And Stick It Out Until Dawn!

At Once, It’s Clear I Cannot Gush. We Try Me Playing Cocky, But I Just Don’t Have The Arrogance. Apparently, I’m Too “vulnerable” For Ferocity. I’m Not Witty. Funny. Sexy. Or Mysterious By The End Of The Session, I Am No One At All.

So Instead Of Acknowledging Applause, I Stand There Unmoving While They Take Part In The Boldest Form Of Dissent They Can Manage. Silence. Which Says We Do Not Agree. We Do Not Condone. All Of This Is Wrong.