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Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart.

Suzanne Collins

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Suzanne Collins
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: August 10
Executive Producer
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Screenwriter
Writer
Hartford
Connecticut
Suzanne Marie Collins
Suzanne Collins
Smiles
Thanks
Okay
Mocking
Sweetheart

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The pain over my heart returns, and from it I imagine tiny fissures spreading out into my body. Through my torso, down my arms and legs, over my face, leaving it crisscrossed with cracks. One good jolt...and I could shatter into strange razor-sharp shards.
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My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They're the ones we naturally remember the best, after all.
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So I only say, So what should we do with our last few days? I just want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you, Peeta replies.
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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.
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Then I get it, what it means. At least, for me. District 12 only has three existing victors to choose from. Two male. One female... I am going back into the arena.
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But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece o time we call today.
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so people really do tear out their hair and beat the ground with their fists
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Not like this. He wanted it to be real.
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People deal with me, but they are genuinely fond of Prim. Maybe there will be enough fondness to keep her alive.
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In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. Instead I learned to hunt.
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I miss him so badly it hurts.
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Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, says Petta bitterly, if it weren't for the baby. There. He's done it again.
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They can fatten me up. They can give me a full body polish, dress me up, and make me beautiful again. They can design dream weapons that come to life in my hands, but they will never again brainwash me into the necessity of using them. I no longer feel allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despite being one myself.
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The audience must be sick to death of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. I know I am.
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They're already taking my future! They can't have the things that mattered to me in the past!
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You want a piece of advice? said Ripred. Don't bother. I know what you'll say. The whole thing's stupid, said Gregor. Quite the contrary. I was going to say that life is short. There are only a few good things in it, really. Don't pretend that one isn't happening. said Ripred.
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I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best. Well, there's no good response to that. I can hardly dispute it since I was walking around with a syringe to kill Peeta when I found them. Do I really want him dead? What I want...what I want is to have him back.
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As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.
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Well, I don't have much competition here. You don't have much competition anywhere.
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A hysterical young woman with flowing brown hair is also called from 4, but she's quickly replaced by a volunteer, an eighty-year-old woman who needs a cane to walk to the stage.
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