Sunday Six Sentences
Each Sunday, post six sentences from a writing project -- published, submitted, in progress, for your cat -- whatever.
“You saw Peeta’s interview,” Sophie says as she threads her fingers through his messy hair. “You think they’re doing the same thing to Annie.”
“But I don’t know what the fuck made him look like that!” Finnick wrenches away from her and buries his face in his hands. “I was supposed to take care of her. But we’re here, and the Capitol has Annie, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
Sighing, she sits down beside him and wraps her left arm around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Annie isn’t defenseless, Finnick. She’s stronger than you sometimes give her credit for. You’re going to get her back. I promise.”
“It isn’t fair,” he whispers. “It should have been me.”
“I know.”
“You saw Peeta’s interview,” Sophie says as she threads her fingers through his messy hair. “You think they’re doing the same thing to Annie.”
“But I don’t know what the fuck made him look like that!” Finnick wrenches away from her and buries his face in his hands. “I was supposed to take care of her. But we’re here, and the Capitol has Annie, and I can’t do a fucking thing about it.”
Sighing, she sits down beside him and wraps her left arm around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Annie isn’t defenseless, Finnick. She’s stronger than you sometimes give her credit for. You’re going to get her back. I promise.”
“It isn’t fair,” he whispers. “It should have been me.”
“I know.”