You Love Me. Real Or

I Want To Do Something, Right Here, Right Now, To Shame Them, To Make Them Accountable, To Show The Capitol That Whatever They Do Or Force Us To Do There Is A Part Of Every Tribute They Can't Own. That Rue Was More Than A Piece In Their Games. And So Am I.

Then Something Unexpected Happens. At Least, I Don't Expect It Because I Don't Think Of District 12 As A Place That Cares About Me. But A Shift Has Occurred Since I Stepped Up To Take Prim's Place, And Now It Seems I Have Become Someone Precious. At First One, Then Another, Then Almost Every Member Of The Crowd Touches The Three Middle Fingers Of Their Left Hand To Their Lips And Holds It Out To Me. It Is An Old And Rarely Used Gesture Of Our District, Occasionally Seen At Funerals. It Means Thanks, It Means Admiration, It Means Good-bye To Someone You Love.

My Time In The Arena Made Me Realize How I Needed To Stop Punishing [my Mother] For Something She Couldn't Help, Specifically The Crushing Depression She Fell Into After My Father's Death. Because Sometimes Things Happen To People And They're Not Equipped To Deal With Them.

I Carefully Lay Out The Provisions. One Thin Black Sleeping Bag That Reflects Body Heat. A Pack Of Crackers. A Pack Of Dried Beef Strips. A Bottle Of Iodine. A Box Of Wooden Matches. A Small Coil Of Wire. A Pair Of Sunglasses. And A Half-gallon Plastic Bottle With A Cap For Carrying Water That's Bone Dry. No Water. How Hard Would It Have Been For Them To Fill Up The Bottle?

The Eleventh Plague Hits Disturbingly Close To Home An Excellent, Taut Debut Novel.