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Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. It's been so long, she gasps, since I've seen anything pretty.

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
Pretty
Skirt
Seen
Drops
Since
Skirts
Anything
Cheek
Long
Burst
Octavia
Cheeks
Gasps
Knees
Rubs
Tears
Hem

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I press my ear against his chest, to the spot where I always rest my head, where I know I will hear the strong and steady beat of his heart. Instead, I find silence.
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Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. You mean this will make me puke? My prep team laughs hysterically. Of course, so you can keep eating, says Octavia. I've been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?
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Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.
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Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then.
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Fine. Somebody else can arrange to get the stupid goat knocked up.
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Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key.
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Because that's what you and I do, protect each other.
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It's meant to be pretty, whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, I think you'd be pretty in any color. The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. Thank you.
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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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While you live, the revolution lives
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But Gale is not one to keep secrets from me. Katniss, there is no District Twelve.
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Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.
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I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you.
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Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream.
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Remembering from last year how Haymitch's gifts are often timed to send a message, I make a note to myself. Be friends with Finnick. You'll get food.
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The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. That the question of whether I can succeed in this venture has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no. That if desperate times call for desperate measures, I am free to act as desperately as I want.
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Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese.
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Just give him the medicine! I scream at her. Give it to him! Who are you, anyway, to decide how much pain he can stand!
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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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One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I'll never see food again. And I said, I won't unless I bring it home. That shut her up.
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