I'm Not Flailing Now, As

I Do Think You're Mad And I'll Still Go With You.

My Little Sister, Prim, Curled Up On Her Side, Cocooned In My Mother’s Body, Their Cheeks Pressed Together. In Sleep, My Mother Looks Younger, Still Worn But Not So Beaten-down. Prim’s Face Is As Fresh As A Raindrop, As Lovely As The Primrose For Which She Was Named. My Mother Was Very Beautiful Once, Too. Or So They Tell Me.

Even If Times Got Bad, He Would Never Again Deny Himself The Possibility That The Future Might Be Happy Even If The Present Was Painful. He Would Allow Himself Dreams.

You Know, I Think This Is The First Time We've Ever Done Anything Normal Together.

And Then It Happens. Up And Down The Row, The Victors Begin To Join Hands. Some Right Away, Like The Morphlings, Or Wiress And Beetee. Others Unsure But Caught Up In The Demands Of Those Around Them, Like Brutus And Enobaria. By The Time The Anthem Plays Its Final Strains, All Twenty-four Of Us Stand In One Unbroken Line In What Must Be The First Public Show Of Unity Among The Districts Since The Dark Days. You Can See The Realization Of This As The Screens Begin To Pop Into Blackness. It's Too Late, Though. In The Confusion They Didn't Cut Us Off In Time. Everyone Has Seen.