Dear my wonderful fans, readers, and reviewers: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in over a week! I was on vacation with little internet access and then returned home sick. My brain just couldn't function enough to churn out words for Prim's story. But here, at last, is an update. Sorry it's short, but thank you for being so patient with me! Love you!

26

I want to kill Seneca Crane.

With my bare hands.

Sending a wall of fire into Peeta and Prim's camp was completely unnecessary! But when I look at it from the Gamemaker's point of view, it makes sense. Drive them all closer. Drive the weak ones—my duck and her ridiculous tribute family—back toward Cato and the others. Because cannons are music to the Capitol's ears.

Today has been hell.

First, the wall of fire, then the cannon that practically stopped my heart. I swore it was Peeta until Gale, with a roll of his eyes, pointed to the tribute picture in the right hand corner of our screen. The girl from District Four. I wasn't even keeping track of her. What was her name?

The camera stayed on Prim and Peeta the whole time.

Second, that run-in with Marvel. I thought for sure Prim would be dead, and I broke down weeping the moment Marvel put that knife against her throat. Gale wrapped an arm around my shoulders—he knew as well as I did that she was dead. I didn't even have energy to be mortified by my reaction.

But Marvel didn't kill Prim.

It makes no sense. I don't get it. He's not the merciful type. None of the Careers are. Why didn't he kill her? I can't understand his thinking, no matter how I try.

I suppose, if it had been me with a knife to little Rue's throat…maybe I wouldn't have done it. But Marvel isn't me. He's so different than I am…yet I felt like I understood him. Up until that point.

I'm not complaining.

Aside from the fact I'm still freaked that my little duck decided to follow the psycho killer from District One, the real problem is Peeta.

Peeta is burned. Bad.

When he rolled away from that fire, he tumbled into some dry creek bed. He let himself fall, somersaulting down the tiny ravine, weaving wherever it took him until he was finally safe. But that fire swept over his leg and burnt the skin to a nasty black crisp in mere seconds.

"He'll be dead by morning." Gale—always picking on Peeta—has sat beside me most days during the Games, after he's gone hunting. I still haven't been able to pull myself away from the screen long enough to go kill something.

Maybe I should.

"Probably." I try to sound nonchalant, like I don't care much about Peeta, but both he and I know it's a show. I need Peeta to live.

Somewhere, deep in a confused corner of my heart, I want him to live.

Not just for Prim.

This whole jumbled mindset sucks.

Yesterday at the Hob, people gave much more than I'd expected. Probably because I was so desperate and honorless in my begging. But they knew my father—they respected—Father. And everyone…I mean everyone…loves Prim.

Who couldn't? Even when she's being the little healer in the Games of death. It's sweet. It's different.

It's Prim.

I took the money to the Governor of District 12. He's the one who handles sending funds to Haymitch. It brings me no comfort knowing that money is in Haymitch's hands. I don't know him at all, but I'm betting that drunk isn't doing squat for Prim or Peeta. Thankfully, Madge's father assured me that Haymitch can't spend the money on anything but parachutes.

So why have Peeta and Prim not received a parachute yet?

Now they will. I got them funds. I did something.

For once, I don't feel so helpless. That is, until I focus on the screen again and see Prim trailing behind Marvel.

Hurry Haymitch. Help Peeta. I fold my arms tight, as if I can still my frantic heart. Hurry Peeta…go save my sister. If he can't do it, if he can't save Prim, I at least want him to be the victor.

When he first declared his love for me on national television, I hated him and I didn't care. And he was right—if Prim died and he lived I'd be furious and I'd hate him.

But I see what he's going through. I see how hard it is to keep Prim safe while she makes decisions that put her life in danger but preserve her character. He's doing all he can, more than I ever could have hoped for when Prim's name came out of that giant fishbowl.

So Peeta's wrong.

I won't hate him if he survives.

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To be continued...

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~If you like my writing, please check out my own dystopian book, A Time to Die (by Nadine Brandes), on Amazon~

How would you live if you knew the day you'd die? Parvin Blackwater believes she has wasted her life. At only seventeen, she has one year left according to the Clock by her bedside. In a last-ditch effort to make a difference, she tries to rescue Radicals from the government's crooked justice system. But when the authorities find out about her illegal activity, they cast her through the Wall - her people's death sentence. What she finds on the other side about the world, about eternity, and about herself changes Parvin forever and might just save her people. But her clock is running out.