Not Like This. He Wanted It To

Of Course You Are. The Tributes Were Necessary To The Games, Too. Until They Weren't," I Say. "and Then We Were Very Disposable - Right, Plutarch?

In Other Words, I Step Out Of Line And We're All Dead.

The Raw Hunk Of Meat That Used To Be My Enemy Makes A Sound, And I Know Where The Mouth Is. And I Think The Word He's Trying To Say Is 'please'. Pity, Not Vengeance Sends My Arrow Flying Into His Skull.

It’s The Final Word In Camouflage. Forget Chucking Weights Around. Peeta Should Have Gone Into His Private Session With The Gamemakers And Painted Himself Into A Tree. Or A Boulder. Or A Muddy Bank Full Of Weeds.

Stupid People Are Dangerous.