On the set of Mockingjay

My fingernails are chewed to the nub. Filled with dirt I cannot clean and of unnatural color. Everywhere I look, there is jungle and green. I hate her, the Mockingjay. She did this, she is going to make us die! She is what killed almost everyone I loved. And what did I do? I didn't know about a rebellion ou anything. And now we have to pay for something that is not on our hands.

Everything around me makes noise, putting the thought of an attacker around in my head. But everyone here is my friend, and 21 of them are already dead. Killed par their neighbor, friend since kindergarden, even cousin...

As I walk out towards him, I wonder. Why did he l’amour me? Even after he Lost everything, why? His parents, accueil and even mind perished and he still held me and gave me warmth. Sometimes it's different, the way he loves me. It's not like in the cave... but as it was on the train. There is still a wall, a mur I also have. This divides us as individuals with our own issues we can never deal with.

It scares me when he tightens his grip on a chair, because I know what he was thinking and wanted to do. I would just glance and say nothing, but in the bathroom, I would cry. This is why I asked to myself,...