Oh, My Dear Miss Everdeen. I Thought

Maybe . . . Because For The First Time . . . There Was A Chance I Could Keep Him,” I Say. “so Now That You've Got Me, What Are You Going To Do With Me?” “put You Somewhere You Can't Get Hurt.” And When He Kisses Me, People In The Room Actually Sigh.

What Will Break Me Into A Million Pieces So That I Am Beyond Repair, Beyond Usefulness?

I'm Unaware That My Feet Are Moving To The Table Until I'm Inches From The Holograph. My Hand Reaches In And Cups A Rapidly Blinking Green Light. Someone Joins Me, His Body Tense. Finnick, Of Course. Because Only A Victor Would See What I See So Immediately. The Arena. Laced With Pods Controlled By Gamemakers. Finnick's Fingers Caress A Steady Red Glow Over A Doorway. "ladies And Gentlemen..." His Voice Is Quiet, But Mine Rings Through The Room. "let The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games Begin!

If You Die And I Live There's No Life For Me Back In District 12. You're My Whole Life. I Would Never Be Happy Again.

But Between The Images, We Are Privy To The Real-life Action Being Played Out On The Set. Peeta's Attempt To Continue Speaking. The Camera Knocked Down To Record The White Tiled Floor. The Scuffle Of Boots. The Impact Of The Blow That's Inseparable From Peeta's Cry Of Pain. And His Blood As It Splatters The Tiles.