"Tremors and pains. Coldness. Nausea." I begin awkwardly, listing off all the things I can remember, which is hard because all of the symptoms and all of the past few days have melded together into one painful blur. It reminds me of the one time I was drunk with Haymitch, except this poison doesn't go away. "I tore my room apart hoping that I might have brought some over with me. I want it and I don't want to." the doctors had hoped to slowly wean me off it was my guess. Otherwise, this was a torture further than anything I thought imaginable. Worse than being on fire or being shot, because at least I still regain some sense of self.

I don't want to become like them, the Morphlings from District 6. A frail yellow sack of bones and wrinkled skin.