Now he's [Cinna] arranging things around my living room: Clothing, fabrics, and sketchbooks with designs he's drawn. I pick one up and examine one of the dresses I supposedly created. You know, I think I show a lot of promise," I say. Get dressed, you worthless thing.

What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button?

There's a chance that the old Peeta, the one who loves you, is still inside. Trying to get back to you. Don't give up on him.

And suddenly, it's as if there's no one in the world but these two, crashing through space to reach each other. They collide, enfold, lose their balance, and slam against a wall, where they stay. Clinging into one being. Indivisible.

The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That's how they recognize me; Why I belong to them.

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me.

I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking.