Somehow It Always Comes Back

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.

I Sit Back On My Bed Cross-legged And Find Myself Rubbing The Smooth Iridescent Surface Of The Pearl Back And Forth Against My Lips. For Some Reason, It’s Soothing. A Cool Kiss

Buttercup, Miserable Even With Prim’s Constant Attention, Huddles In The Cube And Exhales Cat Breath In My Face.

It Crosses My Mind That Cinna's Calm And Normal Demeanor Masks A Complete Madman.

Plutarch Rushes To Reassure Me. "oh, No, Katniss. Not Your Wedding. Finnick And Annie's. All You Need To Do Is Show Up And Pretend To Be Happy For Them." "that's One Of The Few Things I Won't Have To Pretend, Plutarch," I Tell Him.