Not daring to flee since my general location has just been broadcast to any killer who cares. I mean, I know it's cold out here and not everybody has a sleeping bag.

The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us.

When I ask Plutarch about his absence, he just shakes his head and says, "He couldnt face it." "Haymitch? Not able to face something? Wanted a day off, more likely," I say. "I think his actual words were 'I couldn't face it without a bottle,'" says Plutarch.

Peeta: You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you. Finnick: Oh, Peeta. Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart.

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

If you'd been taken by the Capital and hijacked and then tried to kill Peeta, is this the way he would be treating you?

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes, and when again they open, the sun will rise.