Susan Collins. Mockingjay (№ 129194)

My muscles tense. You have to make an effort to control myself. Again the pain in the heart. I imagine in all directions from the heart scatter tiny cracks all over the body. Torso, hands and legs, over my face, I'm covered by a network of cracks. One good jolt of a bunker missile and I could shatter into strange, razor-sharp shards.