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I merely feel emptyness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers use to bloom.

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
Flowers
Merely
Flower
Dead
Bloom
Use
Brush
Feel
Brushes
Feels
Hollow

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It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.
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In other words, I step out of line and we're all dead.
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You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person
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What happens when we get back? I don't know. I guess we try and forget. I don't want to forget.
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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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But what was it Haymitch said when I asked if he had told Peeta the situation? That he had to pretend to be desperately in love? “Don’t have to. He’s already there.
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I can’t fight the sun. I can only watch helplessly as it drags me into a day that I’ve been dreading for months. Katniss Everdeen
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Just the perfect touch of rebellion, says Haymitch Very nice. Rebellion?
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The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life.
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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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And don't you let your guard down for a second because you think anything's inevitable.
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The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments. They say the food is excellent
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I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him.
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The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol's plans. The symbol of the rebellion.
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I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense? he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself. I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not.
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I notice her blouse has pulled out of her skirt in the back again and force myself to stay calm. Tuck your tail in, little duck, I say, smoothing the blouse back in place. Prim giggles and give me a small Quack. Quack yourself, I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me.
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While I was waiting...I ate your lunch.
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Let them go, I tell myself. Say good-bye and forget them. I do my best, thinking of them one by one, releasing them like birds from the protective cages inside me, locking the doors against their return.
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I'm almost there, almost to the barricade, when I thinks she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. And that's when the rest of the parachutes go off.
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Oh, well. At least my blood is flowing.
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