Sorry Excuses For Hunters And Friends. Both

My Name Is Katniss Everdeen. I Am Seventeen Years Old. My Home Is District 12. I Was In The Hunger Games. I Escaped. The Capitol Hates Me.

Yeah, About That,” Says Peeta, Entwining His Fingers In Mine. “don’t Try Something Like That Again.” “or What?” I Ask. “or . . . Or . . .” He Can’t Think Of Anything Good. “just Give Me A Minute.

And It’s All My Fault, Gale. Because Of What I Did In The Arena. If I Had Just Killed Myself With Those Berries, None Of This Would’ve Happened. Peeta Could Have Come Home And Lived, And Everyone Else Would Have Been Safe, Too.” “safe To Do What?” He Says In A Gentler Tone. “starve? Work Like Slaves? Send Their Kids To The Reaping? You Haven’t Hurt People – You’ve Given Them An Opportunity. They Just Have To Be Brave Enough To Take It.

My Mouth Has Gone Dry As Sawdust. I Desperately Find Cinna In The Crowd And Lock Eyes With Him. I Imagine The Words Coming From His Lips. 'what's Impressed You Most Since You Arrived Here?' I Rack My Brain For Something That Made Me Happy Here. Be Honest, I Think. Be Honest.

Whenever I Write A Story, I Hope It Appeals To Both Boys And Girls.