Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. .. quires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every. 1. When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding . ing, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Hunger Games 1 The Hunger Games · Read more · Hunger Games. Read more Mind Games (The Disillusionists Trilogy: Book 1) · Read more.
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PART I "THE TRIBUTES" When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth. shortages, or the Hunger Games. had to kill the lynx because he scared off game. International Standard Book Number (Ebook-PDF). Recipes Inspired by The Hunger Games, Catching Fire International Standard Book Number (Ebook-PDF). This book.. The best.
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Views Total views. Actions Shares. Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide. Book 1 the hunger games 1. When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. Shemust have had bad dreams and climbed in with ourmother.
Of course, she did. This is the day of thereaping. I prop myself up on one elbow. In sleep, my mother looksyounger, still worn but not so beaten-down. My mother wasvery beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing,eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named himButtercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coatmatched the bright flower.
I le hates me. Or at leastdistrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think hestill remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucketwhen Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, bellyswollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The lastthing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Primbegged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay.
Itturned out okay. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup theentrails. He has stopped hissing at me. No hissing. This is the closest we will evercome to love. I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my huntingboots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet.
Ipull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid upinto a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table,under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry ratsand cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheesewrapped in basil leaves.
I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slipoutside. Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, isusually crawling with coal miners heading out to themorning shift at this hour. Men and women withhunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many whohave long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dustout of their broken nails, the lines of their sunkenfaces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed.
May as well sleep in. If youcan. Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I onlyhave to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy fieldcalled the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from thewoods, in fact enclosing all of District 12, is a highchain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops. Even so, Ialways take a moment to listen carefully for the humthat means the fence is live. There are several other weakspots in the fence, but this one is so close to home Ialmost always enter the woods here.
Electrified or not,the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh-eaters out of District Inside the woods they roamfreely, and there are added concerns like venomoussnakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow. Myfather knew and he taught me some before he wasblown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothingeven to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I stillwake up screaming for him to run. Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal andpoaching carries the severest of penalties, morepeople would risk it if they had weapons.
But mostare not bold enough to venture out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with afew others that I keep well hidden in the woods,carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. My fathercould have made good money selling them, but if theofficials found out he would have been publiclyexecuted for inciting a rebellion. But the idea that someone might bearming the Seam would never have been allowed. In the fall, a few brave souls sneak into the woods toharvest apples.
But always in sight of the Meadow. Always close enough to run back to the safety ofDistrict 12 if trouble arises. Then Iglance quickly over my shoulder.
Even here, even inthe middle of nowhere, you worry someone mightoverhear you. Eventually I understoodthis would only lead us to more trouble. So I learnedto hold my tongue and to turn my features into anindifferent mask so that no one could ever read mythoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make onlypolite small talk in the public market. Discuss littlemore than trades in the Hob, which is the blackmarket where I make most of my money. Even athome, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussingtricky topics.
Like the reaping, or food shortages, orthe Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat mywords and then where would we be? In the woods waits the only person with whom I canbe myself. I can feel the muscles in my facerelaxing, my pace quickening as I climb the hills toour place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicketof berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes.
Thesight of him waiting there brings on a smile. Galesays I never smile except in the woods. My real name is Katniss,but when I first told him, I had barely whispered it.
Then when this crazylynx started following me around the woods lookingfor handouts, it became his official nickname for me. Ifinally had to kill the lynx because he scared offgame. But I got a decent price for his pelt. I take it in my hands, pull out thearrow, and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose,inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth floodwith saliva. Fine bread like this is for specialoccasions. He must have been at thebakery at the crack of dawn to trade for it.
His expression brightens at the treat. Happy Hunger Games! I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skinwith my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across mytongue. We have to joke about it because thealternative is to be scared out of your wits. Besides,the Capitol accent is so affected, almost anythingsounds funny in it.
I watch as Gale pulls out his knife and slices thebread. He could be my brother. Straight black hair,olive skin, we even have the same gray eyes.
Most of the familieswho work the mines resemble one another this way. They are. They ran an apothecaryshop in the nicer part of District Since almost noone can afford doctors, apothecaries are our healers. My father got to know my mother because on hishunts he would sometimes collect medicinal herbsand sell them to her shop to be brewed into remedies.
She must have really loved him to leave her home forthe Seam. I try to remember that when all I can see isthe woman who sat by, blank and unreachable, whileher children turned to skin and bones. Gale spreads the bread slices with the soft goatcheese, carefully placing a basil leaf on each while Istrip the bushes of their berries.
We settle back in anook in the rocks. From this place, we are invisiblebut have a clear view of the valley, which is teemingwith summer life, greens to gather, roots to dig, fishiridescent in the sunlight.
The day is glorious, with ablue sky and soft breeze. Run off. Live in the woods. The idea is sopreposterous. But they might as wellbe. Andyou may as well throw in our mothers, too, becausehow would they live without us? Who would fill thosemouths that are always asking for more? With both ofus hunting daily, there are still nights when game hasto be swapped for lard or shoelaces or wool, stillnights when we go to bed with our stomachsgrowling.
The conversation feels all wrong. And Gale is devoted to his family. And evenif we did When wemet, I was a skinny twelve-year-old, and although hewas only two years older, he already looked like aman. It took a long time for us to even becomefriends, to stop haggling over every trade and beginhelping each other out.
You can tell by the way the girls whisper about himwhen he walks by in school that they want him. Good hunting partners are hard to find. We can hunt, fish,or gather.
We can leave our poles andgather in the woods. After the reaping, everyone is supposed tocelebrate. And a lot of people do, out of relief thattheir children have been spared for another year. Butat least two families will pull their shutters, lock theirdoors, and try to figure out how they will survive thepainful weeks to come. We make out well. The predators ignore us on a daywhen easier, tastier prey abounds.
By late morning,we have a dozen fish, a bag of greens and, best of all,a gallon of strawberries. I found the patch a few yearsago, but Gale had the idea to string mesh nets aroundit to keep out the animals. On the way home, we swing by the Hob, the blackmarket that operates in an abandoned warehousethat once held coal.
When they came up with a moreefficient system that transported the coal directlyfrom the mines to the trains, the Hob gradually tookover the space. We easily trade six of the fish for good bread,the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony oldwoman who sells bowls of hot soup from a largekettle, takes half the greens off our hands inexchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin.
We mightdo a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort tokeep on good terms with Greasy Sae. No one in the Seam would turnup their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but thePeacekeepers who come to the Hob can afford to be alittle choosier. She just keeps toherself. Like me.
Since neither of us really has agroup of friends, we seem to end up together a lot atschool. Eating lunch, sitting next to each other atassemblies, partnering for sports activities. We rarelytalk, which suits us both just fine.
Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by anexpensive white dress, and her blonde hair is done upwith a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. Itisapretty dress, but she would never be wearing itordinarily. She presses her lips together and thensmiles. Does she meanit? Or is she messing with him? His eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorns herdress.
Real gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep afamily in bread for months. I had six when I was just twelve years old.
She puts themoney for the berries in my hand. We walk toward the Seam in silence. The reaping system is unfair, with the poor gettingthe worst of it. You become eligible for the reaping theday you turn twelve. That year, your name is enteredonce. At thirteen, twice. And so on and so on untilyou reach the age of eighteen, the final year ofeligibility, when your name goes into the pool seventimes.
Say you are poor and starvingas we were. You can opt to add your name more timesin exchange for tesserae. You may do this for each of your family members aswell.
So, at the age of twelve, I had my name enteredfour times. Once, because I had to, and three timesfor tesserae for grain and oil for myself, Prim, and mymother. In fact, every year I have needed to do this. And the entries are cumulative. So now, at the age ofsixteen, my name will be in the reaping twenty times.
Gale, who is eighteen and has been either helping orsingle-handedly feeding a family of five for sevenyears, will have his name in forty-two times. You can see why someone like Madge, who has neverbeen at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. Thechance of her name being drawn is very slimcompared to those of us who live in the Seam. Notimpossible, but slim. Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. A way to plant hatredbetween the starving workers of the Seam and thosewho can generally count on supper and therebyensure we will never trust one another.
Hisrages seem pointless to me, although I never say so. But whatgood is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of thewoods?
In fact, itscares off the nearby game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than in the district. Gale and I divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a coupleof loaves of good bread, greens, a quart ofstrawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money foreach. At home, I find my mother and sister are ready to go.
My mother wears a fine dress from her apothecarydays. Prim is in my first reaping outfit, a skirt andruffled blouse. A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirtand sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. Tomy surprise, my mother has laid out one of her ownlovely dresses for me.
A soft blue thing with matchingshoes. And this issomething special. Her clothes from her past are veryprecious to her. I lether towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I canhardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror thatleans against the wall. I hug her, because Iknow these next few hours will be terrible for her.
Herfirst reaping. That theunthinkable might happen. The kindonly Prim can draw out of me.
The fish and greens are already cooking in a stew, butthat will be for supper. Thisevening, officials will come around and check to see ifthis is the case. The camera crews, perched likebuzzards on rooftops, only add to the effect. People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is agood opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on thepopulation as well.
Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped areas marked off by ages,the oldest in the front, the young ones, like Prim,toward the back. Most refuse dealing with the racketeers butcarefully, carefully.
I could beshot on a daily basis for hunting, but the appetites ofthose in charge protect me. Not everyone can claimthe same. Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choosebetween dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, thebullet would be much quicker. The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as peoplearrive.
I find myself standing in a clump of sixteens from theSeam. We all exchange terse nods then focus ourattention on the temporary stage that is set up beforethe Justice Building. It holds three chairs, a podium,and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one forthe girls. Twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written onthem in careful handwriting.
They murmur to each other and then lookwith concern at the empty seat. Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor stepsup to the podium and begins to read.
He tells of the history of Panem, thecountry that rose up out of the ashes of a place thatwas once called North America. He lists the disasters,the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroachingseas that swallowed up so much of the land, thebrutal war for what little sustenance remained.
Theresult was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed bythirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperityto its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprisingof the districts against the Capitol. Twelve weredefeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty ofTreason gave us the new laws to guarantee peaceand, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days mustnever be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.
The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. Inpunishment for the uprising, each of the twelvedistricts must provide one girl and one boy, calledtributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes willbe imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could holdanything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors mustfight to the death. The last tribute standing wins. How little chance we would stand of survivinganother rebellion.
Whatever words they use, the real message isclear.
Book 1 The Hunger Games
If you lift afinger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just aswe did in District Thirteen. To make it humiliating as well as torturous, theCapitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as afestivity, a sporting event pitting every district againstthe others. The last tribute alive receives a life of easeback home, and their district will be showered withprizes, largely consisting of food. All year, the Capitolwill show the winning district gifts of grain and oiland even delicacies like sugar while the rest of usbattle starvation.
Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. Inseventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only oneis still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears holleringsomething unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, andfalls into the third chair. The mayor looks distressed.
Since all of this is beingtelevised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock ofPanem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull theattention back to the reaping by introducing EffieTrinket. And may the odds be ever in your favor!
Through the crowd, I spot Gale looking back at mewith a ghost of a smile. As reapings go, this one atleast has a slight entertainment factor. But suddenly Iam thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in thatbig glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. She reaches in, digs herhand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothesthe slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clearvoice.
One time, when I was in a blind in a tree, waitingmotionless for game to wander by, I dozed off and fellten feet to the ground, landing on my back. It was asif the impact had knocked every wisp of air from mylungs, and I lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale,to do anything.
Someone isgripping my arm, a boy from the Seam, and I thinkmaybe I started to fall and he caught me. There must have been some mistake. Prim was one slip of paper in thousands! Taken the tesserae, refused to let her dothe same? Her survival shows. Discuss this phenomenon with intelligence? Her self-control? What other aspects of our popular culture do you see reflected in this story?
Haunted by nightmares of the brutal deaths in the arena, Katniss is confused by her feelings for Peeta, while her relationship with her hunting partner and oldest friend, Gale, is changed in subtle ways. Most challenging, though, is her relationship to the leaders in the Capitol. Her act of defiance in attempting a double suicide at the end of the Games forced them to allow both her and Peeta to live, and there are intimations that Katniss has now become a symbol for rebellion in the Districts.
The Victory Tour, designed to remind the people in the Districts of the power of the Capitol, may be having quite a different effect this year. Every 25 years the Capitol devises a new twist for the reaping, and this year they announce that the tributes will be chosen from among the victors of previous Games. Discussion Questions for Catching Fire 1. Though cedure for every 25th Game? Do you believe the she is stiff and formal with him, what are her true requirements for this Quarter Quell were decided in feelings?
How did the events in the first Games affect the past or were they designed for this Game to force their relationship? Katniss and Peeta back to the arena? What, exactly, was the significance of ensbee show Katniss the hidden mockingjay image the handful of poisonous berries at the end of The on his watch? Discuss how the mockingjay species Hunger Games? How does Beetee would be helpful allies in the arena? Is she being What makes her realize that the physical traumas like the fog and rain of fire, or fighting the Capitol is more important than running the emotional trauma of hearing the jabberjays?
What is the importance of her meeting with Who is the enemy? Have of Katniss and Peeta if they know that they will be the other tributes been trying to keep Peeta or returning to the Games in the Quarter Quell? What Katniss alive? Which of them is most important to the does the Capitol hope to gain by sending previous rebellion? Is it really, as Katniss says, Why were they kept in the dark How many different Second Quarter Quell? How did Haymitch trick the Capitol? Why do they each take the chance of offending those who will control the Games?
How does this change their feelings for each other? Why are the Capitol officials attacking those who have befriended her? Why is Cinna attacked just before Katniss is placed in the arena?
When does she realize the importance of forming alliances with the other tributes? When does Katniss realize that her first impression of Finnick was wrong? As she recovers from her trauma in the arena, Katniss becomes aware that the rebellion has begun in earnest, orchestrated by District 13, the place she once believed was obliterated in the last war. Hay-mitch and Effie are all fancied up for the occasion. When the elevator opens, the other tributes are being linedup to take the stage.
All twenty-four of us sit in a big arcthroughout the interviews. How Iwish I could be first and get the whole thing out of the way! Plus, the audiencewill start to get bored, just as the Gamemakers did. So act like it.
I thought we abandoned that when Peeta asked forseparate coaching. But I guess that was a private, not a publicthing. Just stepping on the stage makes my breathing rapid andshallow. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. An elevated seatingunit has been set up for prestigious guests, with the stylistscommanding the front row.
The cameras will turn to themwhen the crowd is reacting to their handiwork. A large balco-ny off a building to the right has been reserved for the Game-makers. Television crews have claimed most of the other bal-conies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it arecompletely packed with people.
Standing room only. At homesand community halls around the country, every television setis turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in.
There will beno blackouts tonight. Caesar Flickerman, the man who has hosted the interviewsfor more than forty years, bounces onto the stage. Same face under a coating of pure whitemakeup.
Same hairstyle that he dyes a different color for eachHunger Games. Same ceremonial suit, midnight blue dottedwith a thousand tiny electric bulbs that twinkle like stars. They do surgery in the Capitol, to make people appear young-er and thinner. In District 12, looking old is something of an ievement since so many people die early. You see an elder-ly person you want to congratulate them on their longevity,ask the secret of survival. But here it isdifferent. He looks freakish but lessfrightening than he did last year when his color was crimsonand he seemed to be bleeding.
Caesar tells a few jokes towarm up the audience but then gets down to business.
The girl tribute from District 1, looking provocative in asee-through gold gown, steps up the center of the stage to joinCaesar for her interview. With that flowingblonde hair, emerald green eyes, her body tall and lush. Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzergoes off and the next tribute is up. I sit like a lady, the way Effie showed me, as the districtsslip by.
Everyone seems to be playing up some angle. The monstrous boy from District 2 is a ruthless killing ma-chine. The fox-faced girl from District 5 sly and elusive. I spot-ted Cinna as soon as he took his place, but even his presence not relax me. The crippled boy from 10 is veryquiet. Rue, who is dressed in a gossamer gown complete withwings, flutters her way to Caesar. A hush falls over the crowdat the sight of this magical wisp of a tribute. The boy tribute from District 11, Thresh, has the same darkskin as Rue, but the resemblance stops there.
If only I was his size, I could get away with sullen and hos-tile and it would be just fine! I bet half the sponsors are atleast considering him. What did he say? My mouth has gone as dry as sawdust. I desperately findCinna in the crowd and lock eyes with him. I imagine thewords coming from his lips.
Be honest, I think. Be honest. Caesar laughs, and vaguely I realize some of the audiencehas joined in.
I nod. This is what I meanabout Caesar. He tries to help you out. Whatdid you think of that costume? Big laugh. A real one from the audience. Cinna, my friend, I should tell him anyway. Twirl for me. I spin in a circle once and the reaction is immediate. The audience breaks intocheers. But the nerves and thespinning have gotten to me.
Caesar wraps a protective arm around me. So, how about that training score. Give us a hintwhat happened in there. My lips are sealed. His mood is quieter now. Can you tell us about her? No, not all of you. But maybe Cinna.
And I love her more than anything. After the reaping? I swallow hard. But instead of warmth, I feel an icy rigidity take over mybody. My muscles tense as they do before a kill. When I speak,my voice seems to have dropped an octave. The buzz-er goes off. Best of luck, KatnissEverdeen, tribute from District Twelve. I look to Cin-na for reassurance. He gives me a subtle thumbs-up. Hehas the audience from the get-go, though; I can hear themlaughing, shouting out. Thenhas a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers.
Peeta hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of hishead. There must be some special girl. Peeta sighs. Unrequited love theycan relate to.
You win, you go home. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. Then I can see my face, mouth halfopen in a mix of surprise and protest, magnified on everyscreen as I realize, Me! He means me! I press my lips togetherand stare at the floor, hoping this will conceal the emotionsstarting to boil up inside of me. The crowd is murmuring inagreement, a few have even given agonized cries.
The crowd screams assent. Peeta has absolutelywiped the rest of us off the map with his declaration of love me. We stand for theanthem. Poor tragic us. But I know better. After the anthem, the tributes file back into the TrainingCenter lobby and onto the elevators. I make sure to veer into acar that does not contain Peeta. The crowd slows our entou-rages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, so we have onlyeach other for company. No one speaks.
My elevator stops todeposit four tributes before I am alone and then find the doorsopening on the twelfth floor. Peeta has only just stepped fromhis car when I slam my palms into his chest.
He loses his bal-ance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. Theurn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Peeta landsin the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands. No right to go saying those things aboutme!
Now the elevators open and the whole crew is there, Effie,Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia. Haymitch turns on me. Turning me into some kindof fool in front of the entire country? To you! That boy just gave you something you could neverachieve on your own. You were about asromantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. The star-crossed lovers fromDistrict Twelve! Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall. The most I could say about you after your interview was thatyou were nice enough, although that in itself was a small mi-racle.
Oh, oh, oh, how theboys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you thinkwill get you more sponsors? I shove hishands off my shoulders and step away, trying to clear myhead. Cinna comes over and puts his arm around me. My cheeks burn again at the thought of Gale. So what does it matter? My anger fading. Haymitch is right. I survived my interview, but what wasI really? A silly girl spinning in a sparkling, dress.
Theonly moment of any substance I hail was when I talked aboutPrim. Silly and sparkly and forgettable. No, not en-tirely forgettable, I have my eleven in training.
About the HUNGER GAMES
But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers. I remember how strongly theyresponded to his confession.
Star-crossed lovers. Haymitch isright, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol. I force myself to ac-knowledge Peeta.
In the silence that follows, delicious smells of our dinnerwaft in from the dining room. We all follow him to the table and take our places. Butthen Peeta is bleeding too heavily, and Portia leads him off formedical treatment. We start the cream and rose-petal soupwithout them.
Tomorrow we will be in the arena. He has done me a favorand I have answered with an injury. Will I never stop owinghim? After dinner, we watch the replay in the sitting room. Iseem frilly and shallow, twirling and giggling in my dress, al-though the others assure me I am charming. Peeta actually ischarming and then utterly winning as the boy in love. Tomorrow at dawn, we will be roused andprepared for the arena. But Peetaand I must make an early start. I know Haymitch and Effie will not be going with us.
Cinna and Por-tia will travel with us to the very spot from which we will belaunched into the arena. Still final good-byes must be saidhere. Effie takes both of us by the hand and, with actual tears inher eyes, wishes us well. Thanks us for being the best tributesit has ever been her privilege to sponsor.
Haymitch crosses his arms and looks us both over. And weonly nod. What else is there to say? When I head to my room, Peeta lingers to talk to Portia. Whatever strange words of parting we exchange canwait until tomorrow. My covers are drawn back, but there isno sign of the redheaded Avox girl. I wish I knew her name. Ishould have asked it. She could write it down maybe. Or act itout. But perhaps that would only result in punishment for her. I take a shower and scrub the gold paint, the makeup, thescent of beauty from my body.
I decide to keepthem as reminder of who I am to the audience. Katniss, thegirl who was on fire. Perhaps it will give me something to holdon to in the days to come. I pull on a thick, fleecy nightgown and climb into bed. And I need sleep desperately because in the arena every mo-ment I give in to fatigue will be an invitation to death.
One hour, two, three pass, and my eyelidsrefuse to get heavy. A frigid wastel-and? Above all I am hoping for trees, which may afford mesome means of concealment and food and shelter, Often thereare trees because barren landscapes are dull and the Games olve too quickly without them.
But what will the climate belike? What traps have the Gamemakers hid den to liven up theslower moments? And then there are my fellow tributes. The more anxious I am to find sleep, the more it eludes me. Finally, I am too restless to even stay in bed. I pace the floor,heart beating too fast, breathing too short.
My room feels likea prison cell. I run down the hall to the door to the roof. The energy field enclosing the roof pre-vents any desperate form of escape. I want to see the sky andthe moon on the last night that no one will be hunting me. The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as my bare feel reachits tiled surface I see his silhouette, black against the lightsthat shine endlessly in the Capitol.
And what difference does it make? Whether we speak or not?Katniss, thegirl who was on fire. How does this reflect on 3.
Mine never catch anything. Probably the first seeds were planted when, as an eight-year-old with a mythology obsession, I read the story of Theseus. I sit like a lady, the way Effie showed me, as the districtsslip by.
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