But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. "Katniss, there is no District Twelve."
My mother says healers are born, not made.
Charred bits of black silk swirl into the air, and pearls clatter to the stage… I’m in a dress of the exact design of my wedding dress, only it’s the color of coal and made of tiny feathers. Wonderingly, I lift my long, flowing sleeves into the air, and that’s when I see myself on the television screen. Clothed in black except for the white patches on my sleeves. Or should I say my wings. Because Cinna had turned me into a mockingjay.
I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere if I'm trying to slit his throat.
And then there was Tick. Brave little Tick, who had flown into the faces of an army of rats to save his baby sister. Tick - who never spoke much. Tick - who shared her food. Tick - who was after all just a roach. Just a roach who had given all the time she had left so that Boots could have more. Gregor pressed Boots's fingers against his lips and felt scalding tears begin to slide down his cheeks. He hadn't cried, not the whole time he'd been down here, and there had been plenty of bad stuff. But somehow Tick's sacrifice had crushed whatever thin shell remained between him and sorrow.
In one horrible moment the last piece of the prophecy became clear. So bid him take care, bid him look where he leaps, As life may be death and death life again reaps. He had to leap, and by his death, the others would live. That was it. That was what Sandwich had been trying to say all along, and by now he believed in Sandwich. He put on a final burst of speed, just like the coach taught him in track. He gave everything he had. In the last few steps before the canyon he felt a sharp pain in the back of his leg, and then the ground gave way under his feet. Gregor the Overlander leaped.
Tomorrow's a hunting day," I say. "I won't be much of a help with that," Peeta says. "I've never hunted before." "I'll kill and you cook," I say. "And you can always gather." "I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," says Peeta.
I have not wept since the death of my parents," said Luxa quietly. "But I am thought to be unnatural in this respect.
Whose is it, do you think?" I say finally. "No telling," says Finnick. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?
I go to the saltwater and wash off the blood, trying to decide which I hate more, pain or itching. Fed up, I stomp back onto the beach, turn my face upward and snap, "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin." It's almost funny how quickly the parachute appears above me. I reach up and the tube lands squarely in my open hand. "About time" I say, but I can't keep the scowl on my face. Haymitch. What I wouldn't give for five minutes of conversation with him.
A verbal promise behind closed doors, even a statement written on paper-these could easily evaporate . . . .
They can pump whatever they want into my arm but it takes more than that to keep a person going once she's lost the will to live.
Well, I can't leave Mags behind," says Finnick. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me.
Right before the explosions begin, I find a star.
I wish she was dead,' he says. 'I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best.
If you are not trying to hold on to time, you are not so afraid of losing it.
Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness...except possibly when it comes to you.
My voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warms up into something splendid. A voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in.
Maybe . . . because for the first time . . . there was a chance I could keep him,” I say. “So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?” “Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.
Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots.
I’m stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta.
Vikus looked at Luxa and opened his arms. She stood, still frozen, staring at him as if he were a complete stranger. "Luxa, it's your grandpa," said Gregor. It seemed like the best and most important thing to say at the moment. "It's your grandpa." Luxa blinked. A tiny tear formed at the corner of her eye. A battle took place on her face as she tried to stop the feelings rising up inside her. The feelings won, and to Gregor's great relief, she ran into Vikus's arms.
I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick.
What about you?" "Not a clue. I keep wishing I could bake a cake or something.
Winning the Games will make you famous, losing will mean death.
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