What About You?" "not A Clue. I

What About You?" "not A Clue. I Keep Wishing I Could Bake A Cake Or Something.

Only I Keep Wishing I Could Think Of A Way...to Show The Capitol They Don't Own Me. That I'm More Than Just A Piece In Their Games.

I Merely Feel Emptyness. A Hollow Of Dead Brush Where Flowers Use To Bloom.

Not Daring To Flee Since My General Location Has Just Been Broadcast To Any Killer Who Cares. I Mean, I Know It's Cold Out Here And Not Everybody Has A Sleeping Bag.

Then Something Unexpected Happens. At Least, I Don't Expect It Because I Don't Think Of District 12 As A Place That Cares About Me. But A Shift Has Occurred Since I Stepped Up To Take Prim's Place, And Now It Seems I Have Become Someone Precious. At First One, Then Another, Then Almost Every Member Of The Crowd Touches The Three Middle Fingers Of Their Left Hand To Their Lips And Holds It Out To Me. It Is An Old And Rarely Used Gesture Of Our District, Occasionally Seen At Funerals. It Means Thanks, It Means Admiration, It Means Good-bye To Someone You Love.