Maybe The Other Tributes Are

My Guess Is That Fearful Events Are The Hardest To Root Out. They're The Ones We Naturally Remember The Best, After All.

What Must It Be Like, I Wonder, To Live In A World Where Food Appears At The Press Of A Button? How Would I Spend The Hours I Now Commit To Combing The Woods For Sustenance If It Were So Easy To Come By? What Do They Do All Day, These People In The Capitol, Besides Decorating Their Bodies And Waiting Around For A New Shipment Of Tributes To Rill In And Die For Their Entertainment?

How Did Rue End Up On That Stage With Nothing But The Wind Offering To Take Her Place?

Sometimes When I'm Alone, I Take The Pearl From Where It Lives In My Pocket And Try To Remember The Boy With The Bread, The Strong Arms That Warded Off Nightmares On The Train, The Kisses In The Arena.

Positioned On My Dresser, That White-as-snow Rose Is A Personal Message To Me. It Speaks Of Unfinished Business. It Whispers, I Can Find You. I Can Reach You. Perhaps I Am Watching You Now.