I think we put our children at an enormous disadvantage by not educating them in war, by not letting them understand about it at an early age.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, 'So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?' I turn into him. 'Put you somewhere you can't get hurt.

I take a few breaths to calm myself, step back, and lift Buttercup by the scruff of the neck. "I should've drowned you when I had the chance." His ears flatten and he raises a paw. I hiss before he gets a chance, which seems to annoy him a little, since he considers hissing his own personal sound of contempt.

That was the first time I ever saw him smile. It transformed him from someone menacing to someone you wished you knew.

Instead, I watch myself get shot on television.

I stare at the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not.

If I'm going to cry, now is the time. By morning, I'll be able to wash all the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. So I let the train rock me into oblivion.