To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.

I'm going to be the Mockingjay.

Warmblood now a bloodborne death, Will rob your body of it's breath Mark your skin and seal your fate The Underland becomes a plate

Ladies and gentlemen....." His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!

Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel. "You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know," Haymitch says.

The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls.

So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.