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The
next
hours
are
the
worst
in
my
life
,
which
if
you
think
about
it
,
is
saying
something
.
The
cold
would
be
torture
enough
,
but
the
real
nightmare
is
listening
to
Cato
,
moaning
,
begging
,
and
finally
just
whimpering
as
the
mutts
work
away
at
him
.
After
a
very
short
time
,
I
do
n't
care
who
he
is
or
what
he
's
done
,
all
I
want
is
for
his
suffering
to
end
.
"
Why
do
n't
they
just
kill
him
?
"
I
ask
Peeta
.
"
You
know
why
,
"
he
says
,
and
pulls
me
closer
to
him
.
And
I
do
.
No
viewer
could
turn
away
from
the
show
now
.
From
the
Gamemakers
'
point
of
view
,
this
is
the
final
word
in
entertainment
.
It
goes
on
and
on
and
on
and
eventually
completely
consumes
my
mind
,
blocking
out
memories
and
hopes
of
tomorrow
,
erasing
everything
but
the
present
,
which
I
begin
to
believe
will
never
change
.
There
will
never
be
anything
but
cold
and
fear
and
the
agonized
sounds
of
the
boy
dying
in
the
horn
.
Peeta
begins
to
doze
off
now
,
and
each
time
he
does
,
I
find
myself
yelling
his
name
louder
and
louder
because
if
he
goes
and
dies
on
me
now
,
I
know
I
'll
go
completely
insane
.
He
's
fighting
it
,
probably
more
for
me
than
for
him
,
and
it
's
hard
because
unconsciousness
would
be
its
own
form
of
escape
.
But
the
adrenaline
pumping
through
my
body
would
never
allow
me
to
follow
him
,
so
I
ca
n't
let
him
go
.
I
just
ca
n't
.
The
only
indication
of
the
passage
of
time
lies
in
the
heavens
,
the
subtle
shift
of
the
moon
.
So
Peeta
begins
pointing
it
out
to
me
,
insisting
I
acknowledge
its
progress
and
sometimes
,
for
just
a
moment
I
feel
a
flicker
of
hope
before
the
agony
of
the
night
engulfs
me
again
.
Finally
,
I
hear
him
whisper
that
the
sun
is
rising
.
I
open
my
eyes
and
find
the
stars
fading
in
the
pale
light
of
dawn
.
I
can
see
,
too
,
how
bloodless
Peeta
's
face
has
become
.
How
little
time
he
has
left
.
And
I
know
I
have
to
get
him
back
to
the
Capitol
.
