“Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.”
It’s impossible to be the Mockingjay. Impossible to complete even this one sentence. Because now I know that everything I say will be taken out on Peeta.
My mind’s lost with nightmares streaming
Waking up kicking, screaming
At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.