District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

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.

What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy.

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?

If you appeal to the crowd, either by being humorous or brutal or eccentric, you gain favor.

I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away.

Oh, the fun we two have together.