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Suzanne Collins -
Peeta
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Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean whit his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!
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Today I might lose both of them. I try to imagine a world where both Gale's and Peeta's voices have ceased. Hands stilled. Eyes unblinking. I'm standing over their bodies, having a last look, leaving the room where they lie. But when I open the door to step out into the world, there's only a tremendous void. A pale grey nothingness that is all my future holds.
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So I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends. - Peeta Mellark
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Yeah, about that, says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. Don't try something like that again. Or what? I ask. Or... or... He can't think of anything good. Just give me a minute.
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Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," I say. "For what? Nothing's going on here," he says. "Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot." This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin.
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I can't help comparing what I have with Gale to what I'm pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale's motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter's. It's not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mutual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other's survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that?
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Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. For you. I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments.
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Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out.
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Delly lost her temper at Peeta over how he treated you. She got very squeaky. It was like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly.
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And she's very clever, Peeta. Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her
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Whose is it, do you think?" I say finally. "No telling," says Finnick. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?
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For some reason Gale and Peeta do not coexist well in my thoughts.
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It's impossible to be the Mockingjay. Impossible to complete even this one sentence. Because now I know that everything I say will be directly taken out on Peeta. Result in his torture. But not his death, no nothing so merciful as that. Snow will ensure that his life is much worse than death.
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Since Mags seems to have no ill effects from the nuts, Peeta collects bunches of them and fries them by bouncing them off the force field.
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I cover my face with my arms because this isn't happening. It isn't possible. For someone to make Peeta forget he loves me... no one can do that.
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So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh? says Caesar encouragingly. I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…won't help in my case, says Peeta. Why ever not? says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. Because…because…she came here with me.
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You're alive," I whisper, pressing my palms against my cheeks, feeling the smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace. Peeta's alive.
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What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in.
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I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. "You could do a lot worse." At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift...it is perfect. So when I rise up on my tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.
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So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality. They saw her shoot, says Peeta with a smile. Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself. You're that good? Haymitch asks me.
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Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots.
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All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.
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To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed.
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I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock. Let me go! I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp. I can't, he says.
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Several sets of arms would embrace me. But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too. I reach out for him and say something like his name and he's there, holding me and patting my back. "It's okay. It'll be okay, sweetheart." He sits me on a length of broken marble pillar and keeps an arm around me while I sob.
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Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," I say. Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave your sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," says Peeta drily.
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I turn and put my lips close to Peeta's and drop my eyelids in imitation... "He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," I say in my best seductive voice.
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Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?" says Peeta. "It costs everything you are.
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Peeta looks me right in the eye and gives my hand what I think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze. Maybe it's just a nervous spasm.
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I pull an arrow, whip the notch into place, and am about to let it fly when I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. And it's so bizarre, even for Finnick.
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Quote of the day
I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up.
Mark Twain
Suzanne Collins
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Born:
August 10, 1962
(age 62)
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