The Odds are Never in Our Favor

Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the reaping. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. "And may the odds -" He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.

I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tongue. "- be ever in your favor!" I finish with equal verve.

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Primrose Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen volunteers.

Gale Hawthorne. No one volunteers.

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"Listen," he says. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a bow. That's your best chance."

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He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. "Good luck, girl on fire."

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"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games Begin!"

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Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

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Gale's voice is in my head. His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored.