I Don't Think It's Going To Work

Maybe I'll Be Like The Man In The Hanging Tree Still Waiting For An Answer.' Gale Who I Have Never Seen Cry Has Tears In His Eyes. To Keep Them From Spilling Over. I Reach Forward And Press My Lips Against His. We Taste Of Heat, Ashes And Misery.

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.

I’m In A Shallow Hole, Not Filled With The Humming Orange Bubbles Of My Hallucination But With Old, Dead Leaves.

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.

For Me, It's Better To Wake Up With A Paintbrush Than A Knife In My Hand. -peeta