I walk around the room eating goose liver and puffy bread until there's a knock on the door. Effie's calling me to dinner. Good. I'm starving.

Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life.

Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings.

Sick and disoriented, I'm able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

There are much worse games to play.

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen when we get home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.

Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor.