Hopeless Wanderer

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Apr 21, 2014 / 4,642 notes

“Not to sound rude, but acting is stupid. Everybody’s like, ‘How can you remain with a level head?’ And I’m like, ‘Why would I ever get cocky? I’m not saving anybody’s life. There are doctors who save lives and firemen who run into burning buildings. I’m making movies. It’s stupid.

Apr 21, 2014 / 2,128 notes
Apr 21, 2014 / 4,980 notes
Apr 21, 2014 / 983 notes
When we shot the scene where I had to propose to Katniss where I get down on one knee, the very first time I did it I got down on one knee and my pants ripped right underneath. It’s not a good omen, the first time I try to propose to a girl I rip my pants. I’m doomed, I’m absolutely doomed.

Apr 21, 2014 / 2,302 notes
Apr 21, 2014 / 4,386 notes
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Apr 21, 2014 / 7,312 notes

Peeta gently lifts up the morphling and carries her the last few yards to the beach while Finnick and I keep our weapons at the ready. But except for the orange carcasses on the ground, the monkeys are gone. Peeta lays the morphling on the sand. I cut away the material over her chest, revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, making them look far less deadly than they are. The real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I feel certain the beast ruptured something vital, a lung, maybe even her heart.

She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child’s dead of starvation. Surely she could afford food, but turned to the morphling just as Haymitch turned to drink, I guess. Everything about her speaks of waste—her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes. I hold one of her twitching hands, unclear whether it moves from the poison that affected our nerves, the shock of the attack, or withdrawal from the drug that was her sustenance. There is nothing we can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies.

Apr 21, 2014 / 130,310 notes



Apr 20, 2014 / 10,677 notes