Kind people have a way of working their way inside me and rooting there.
Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.
Her name's Prim. She's just twelve. And I love her more than anything.
Ally." Peeta says the words slowly, tasting it. "Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancee. Target. Mutt. Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the list of words I use to try to figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up.
"If I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can't grow wings," he say's. "Real or not real?" "Real," I say. "But people don't need wings to survive." "Mockingjays do."
No one knows what to do with you, girlie.
Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. In a moment, he will realize it's futile, she can't be saved.
A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food.
No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her.
And it takes so much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much.
Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts." "Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.
I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could, my money would be on you.
I must have loved you a lot.
One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me. I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.
Sometimes things happen to people and they're not equipped to deal with them.
I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you.
I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble.
The realization that I’d have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.
Stupid people are dangerous.
The air's warm with hopeful hints of spring in it. Spring would be a good time for an uprising, I think. Everyone feels less vulnerable once winter passes.
All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.
You’re not leaving me here alone,” I say. Because if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this arena, trying to think my way out.
Aim higher in case you fall short.
Peeta, how come I never know when you're having a nightmare?” I say. “I don't know. I don't think I cry out or thrash around or anything. I just come to, paralyzed with terror,” he says. “You should wake me,” I say, thinking about how I can interrupt his sleep two or three times on a bad night. About how long it can take to calm me down. “It's not necessary. My nightmares are usually about losing you,” he says. “I'm okay once I realize you're here.
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