Each Time I Wake,i Think,

The Main Thing I Feel Is A Sense Of Relief. That I Can Give Up This Game. That The Question Of Whether I Can Succeed In This Venture Has Been Answered, Even If That Answer Is A Resounding No. That If Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures, I Am Free To Act As Desperately As I Want.

If Under Fell, If Over Leaped, If Death Was Life And Death Life Reaped, Something Rises From The Gloom, To Make The Underland A Tomb Hear It Scratching Down Below, Rat Of Long Forgotten Snow, Evil Cloaked In Coat Of White, Will The Warrior Drain Your Light? What Could Turn The Warrior Week? What Do Burning Gnawers Seek? Just A Barely Speaking Pup That Holds The Land Of Under Up Die The Baby, Die His Heart Die His Most Essential Part Die The Peace That Rules The Hour, Gnawers Have Their Key To Power

In My Mind, President Snow Should Be Viewed In Front Of Marble Pillars Hung With Oversized Flags. It's Jarring To See Him Surrounded By The Ordinary Objects In The Room. Like Taking The Lid Off A Pot And Finding A Fanged Viper Instead Of Stew.

The Damage, The Fatigue, The Imperfections. That's How They Recognize Me; Why I Belong To Them.

I Can Almost Hear Haymitch Groaning As I Team Up With This Wispy Child. But I Want Her. Because She's A Survivor, And I Trust Her, And Why Not Admit It? She Reminds Me Of Prim.