You Here To Finish Me

I'm Trying To Think Of A Witty Comeback, When Boggs Says Brusquely, “well, Don't Expect Us To Be Too Impressed. We Just Saw Finnick Odair In His Underwear.” I Decide To Go Ahead And Like Boggs.

I Don't Have A Talent, Unless You Count Hunting Illegally, Which They Don't. Or Maybe Singing, Which I Wouldn't Do For The Capitol In A Million Years. My Mother Tried To Interest Me In A Variety Of Suitable Alternatives From A List Effie Trinket Sent Her. Cooking, Flower Arranging, Playing The Flute. None Of Them Took, Although Prim Had A Knack For All Three. Finally Cinna Stepped In And Offered To Help Me Develop My Passion For Designing Clothes, Which Really Required Development Since It Was Non-existent.

My Name Is Katniss Everdeen. I Am Seventeen Years Old. My Home Is District 12. I Was In The Hunger Games. I Escaped. The Capitol Hates Me.

If There's A More Helpless Feeling Than Trying To Reach Someone You Love Who's Trapped Underground, I Don't Know It.

I'll Tell Them How I Survive It. I'll Tell Them That On Bad Mornings, It Feels Impossible To Take Pleasure In Anything Because I'm Afraid It Could Be Taken Away. That's When I Make A List In My Head Of Every Act Of Goodness I've Seen Someone Do. It's Like A Game. Repetitive. Even A Little Tedious After More Than Twenty Years. But There Are Much Worse Games To Play.