Well, I Don't Have Much Competition Here."

Tick, Tock,” Whispers Wiress. I Guide Her In Front Of Me And Get Her To Lie Down, Stroking Her Arm To Soothe Her. She Drifts Off, Stirring Restlessly, Occasionally Sighing Out Her Phrase. “tick, Tock.” “tick, Tock,” I Agree Softly. “it’s Time For Bed. Tick, Tock. Go To Sleep.

You're Alive," I Whisper, Pressing My Palms Against My Cheeks, Feeling The Smile That's So Wide It Must Look Like A Grimace. Peeta's Alive.

Yes, And I’m Sure The Arena Will Be Full Of Bags Of Flour For Me To Chuck At People.

Orange? Like Effie's Hair?" I Say. "a Bit More Muted," He Says. "more Like Sunset.

Yes, Victors Are Our Strongest. They're The Ones Who Survived The Arena And Slipped The Noose Of Poverty That Strangles The Rest Of Us. They, Or Should I Say We, Are The Very Embodiment Of Hope Where There Is No Hope. And Now Twenty-three Of Us Will Be Killed To Show How Even That Hope Was An Illusion.