Greeting To The Final Contestants Of The

Even If Times Got Bad, He Would Never Again Deny Himself The Possibility That The Future Might Be Happy Even If The Present Was Painful. He Would Allow Himself Dreams.

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.

But In My Head I Can Hear Haymitch's Smug, If Slightly Exasperated, Words: "yes, That's What I'm Looking For, Sweetheart.

I'm Unaware That My Feet Are Moving To The Table Until I'm Inches From The Holograph. My Hand Reaches In And Cups A Rapidly Blinking Green Light. Someone Joins Me, His Body Tense. Finnick, Of Course. Because Only A Victor Would See What I See So Immediately. The Arena. Laced With Pods Controlled By Gamemakers. Finnick's Fingers Caress A Steady Red Glow Over A Doorway. "ladies And Gentlemen..." His Voice Is Quiet, But Mine Rings Through The Room. "let The Seventy-sixth Hunger Games Begin!

We Had To Save You Because You're The Mockingjay, Katniss," Says Plutarch. "while You Live, The Revolution Lives.