You're Hideous, You Know That, Right?

So, What Do You Think They'll Do To Him?" I Ask. Prim Sounds About A Thousand Years Old When She Speaks. "whatever It Takes To Break You.

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.

I'm Not Flailing Now, As My Muscles Are Rigid With The Tension Of Holding Myself Together.

In My Mind, President Snow Should Be Viewed In Front Of Marble Pillars Hung With Oversized Flags. It's Jarring To See Him Surrounded By The Ordinary Objects In The Room. Like Taking The Lid Off A Pot And Finding A Fanged Viper Instead Of Stew.

I Killed You. And You. And You.