Whenever I Write A Story,

I Think About Going To The Lake, But I'm So Weak That I Barely Make It To My Meeting Place With Gale. I Sit On The Rock Where Cressida Filmed Us, But It's Too Wide Without His Body Beside Me. Several Times I Close My Eyes And Count To Ten, Thinking That When I Open Them, He Will Have Materialized Without A Sound As He So Often Did. I Have To Remind Myself That Gale's In 2 With A Fancy Job, Probably Kissing Another Pair Of Lips.

But Just Before They Cut Back To The Main Newscaster, I See The Unmistakable Flash Of That Same Mockingjay's Wing. The Reporter Has Simply Been Incorporated Into The Old Footage. She's Not In District 13 At All. Which Begs The Question, What Is?

In Really Bad Times, The Hungriest Would Gather At His Door At Nightfall, Vying For The Chance To Earn A Few Coins To Feed Their Families By Selling Their Bodies. Had I Been Older When My Father Died, I Might Have Been Among Them. Instead I Learned To Hunt.

But It's Posy, Gale's Five-year-old Sister, Who Helps The Most. She Scoots Along The Bench To Octavia And Touches Her Skin With A Tentative Finger. “you're Green. Are You Sick?” “it's A Fashion Thing, Posy. Like Wearing Lipstick,” I Say. “it's Meant To Be Pretty,” Whispers Octavia, And I Can See The Tears Threatening To Spill Over Her Lashes. Posy Considers This And Says Matter-of-factly, “i Think You'd Be Pretty In Any Color.

Taking The Kids From Our Districts, Forcing Them To Kill One Another While We Watch – This Is The Capitol’s Way Of Reminding Us How Totally We Are At Their Mercy. How Little Chance We Would Stand Of Surviving Another Rebellion. Whatever Words They Use, The Real Message Is Clear. “look How We Take Your Children And Sacrifice Them And There’s Nothing You Can Do. If You Lift A Finger, We Will Destroy Every Last One Of You. Just As We Did In District Thirteen