"He’s…he’s having concentration problems," I answer. I don’t want to say he had a complete mental meltdown.”Concentration problems, eh?” Beetee smiles grimly. “If you knew what Finnick’s been through the last few years, you’d know
h o w r e m a r k a b l e i t i s h e ’ s s t i l l w i t h u s a t a l l .
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.