Unable to accept it, I shine the light from Cressida’s gun down the shaft. Far below, I can just make out Finnick, struggling to hang on as three mutts tear at him. As one yanks back his head to take the death bite, something bizarre happens. It’s as if I’m Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee’s trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks. Then it’s over.
I’m so bittersweet right now
Tonight was good, bad, and then a combination of both. It’s like I don’t remember how to be happy after you tore down my walls but at least I got to hear your voice again. I never realized how much I missed you
"I would have preferred this writer explore these ideas" is an opinion.
"This writer has trouble with certain aspects of story-telling" is a criticism.
"This writer sucks and is talentless" is a mean-spirited insult.
"This writer should die" is a vile, sh*tty thing for which there is no excuse for saying.
Please learn the difference and please don’t pretend you’re doing one of the two former when you’re doing one of the two latter.