Let the Seventy-forth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let them begin for real.

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

You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?" "Like I couldn't take you.

When I break into the clearing, she's on the ground, hopelessly entangled in a net. She just has the time to reach her hand through the mesh and say my name before the spear enters her body.

There's no point in comforting words, in telling her she'll be all right. She's no fool. Her hand reaches out and I clutch it like a lifeline. As if it's me who's dying instead of Rue.

I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I am in pain," He say's. "That's the only way I get your attention.

And to us, we're more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.