Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted Dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me. Everything screams in my dreams tonight.

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.

Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?" "Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there.

Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!

And then, if you make it to bedtime, you feel the joy of cheating death out of one more day," she said. "Do you see?

Something small and quiet, like a match being struck, lights up the gloom inside of me.

Great. Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts for my allies. He'll love that.