This is no place for a girl on fire.

While I was waiting...I ate your lunch.

Sorry excuses for hunters and friends. Both of us.

I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads 'mentally disoriented' around and around my wrist.

But the only thing that distracts me from my current situation is fantasizing about killing President Snow.

At once, it’s clear I cannot gush. We try me playing cocky, but I just don’t have the arrogance. Apparently, I’m too “vulnerable” for ferocity. I’m not witty. Funny. Sexy. Or mysterious By the end of the session, I am no one at all.

I'm going to be the Mockingjay.