I'm Not Good At Talking

Listen Up. You're In Trouble. Word Is The Capitol's Furious About You Showing Them Up In The Arena. The One Thing They Can't Stand Is Being Laughed At And They're The Joke Of Panem

There Was No Discussion Between Them; It Was As If The Bugs Had Worked Out This Whole Scenario Long Ago. Temp Put On A Burst Of Speed For The End Of The Bridge, And Tick Turned To Face Down The Army Of Rats Alone.

Your Favorite Colour . . . It's Green?" "that's Right." Then I Think Of Something To Add. "and Yours Is Orange." "orange?" He Seems Unconvinced. "not Bright Orange. But Soft. Like The Sunset," I Say. "at Least, That's What You Told Me Once." "oh." He Closes His Eyes Briefly, Maybe Trying To Conjure Up That Sunset, Then Nods His Head. "thank You." But More Words Tumble Out. "you're A Painter. You're A Baker. You Like To Sleep With The Windows Open. You Never Take Sugar In Your Tea. And You Always Double-knot Your Shoelaces.

Five Years Later I Still Wake Up Screaming For Him To Run

I Don't Think It's Going To Work Out. Winning...won't Help In Any Case. Because...she Came Here With Me. - Peeta Mellark