taylor-tot124

Eleven: Peeta My face is buried in my pillow, hands gripping at my hair, as I try to keep my breathing under control. What is wrong with me? Why would I have done that? It takes so much for me to lose my temper and fly off the handle; Gale is the one that is hot-headed. Katniss is the one who can't hold her tongue. I've always prided myself on being amiable, despite my violent upbringing. Between the days of labor-intensive hunting and abuse at the hand of the Witch, I've been through more than just any person in 12. It is the inaction that gets to me. Like when the Witch lies in a drunken stupor, too wasted to move. Like when the Gamemaker

The ceiling was boarded and low, even lower than Nessa remembered it being. The knots in the wood made the surface appear rough when she knew it was smooth and her numb curiosity urged her to reach up and touch it. But maybe that's because she'd been staring at it all night. Not that the night had been that long. By the time she'd finally gotten Will back into the car and Sky had pulled into the Sanctuary driveway, sunlight had bled into the horizon like a negative picture of ink leeching into fabric. Will's leg was broken, bent in an unnatural shape, and he had a dislocated shoulder so he'd passed out the second they'd hauled him into his r