Hungry fingers devour me, wanting to feel my flesh. As a stricken man clutches my face between his hands, I send a silent thank-you to Dalton for suggesting I wash off the makeup. How ridiculous, how perverse I would feel presenting that painted Capitol mask to these people. The damage, the fatigue, the imperfections. That's how they recognize me, why I belong to them.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Mockingjay - Pg 90
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment