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TableofContents
TitlePage
TheHungerGames
CatchingFire
Mockingjay
AbouttheAuthor
AlsoAvailable
Copyright
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Contents
TitlePage
Dedication
PartI:“TheTributes”
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
PartII:“TheGames”
10
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11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
PartIII:“TheVictor”
19
20
21
22
23
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WhenIwakeup,theothersideofthebediscold.Myfingers
stretchout,seekingPrim’swarmthbutfindingonlytherough
canvascoverofthemattress.Shemusthavehadbaddreamsand
climbedinwithourmother.Ofcourse,shedid.Thisisthedayof
thereaping.
Ipropmyselfupononeelbow.There’senoughlightinthe
bedroomtoseethem.Mylittlesister,Prim,curleduponher
side,cocoonedinmymother’sbody,theircheekspressed
together.Insleep,mymotherlooksyounger,stillwornbutnot
sobeaten-down.Prim’sfaceisasfreshasaraindrop,aslovely
astheprimroseforwhichshewasnamed.Mymotherwasvery
beautifulonce,too.Orsotheytellme.
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SittingatPrim’sknees,guardingher,istheworld’sugliest
cat.Mashed-innose,halfofoneearmissing,eyesthecolorof
rottingsquash.PrimnamedhimButtercup,insistingthathis
muddyyellowcoatmatchedthebrightflower.Hehatesme.Orat
leastdistrustsme.Eventhoughitwasyearsago,Ithinkhestill
remembershowItriedtodrownhiminabucketwhenPrim
broughthimhome.Scrawnykitten,bellyswollenwithworms,
crawlingwithfleas.ThelastthingIneededwasanothermouthto
feed.ButPrimbeggedsohard,criedeven,Ihadtolethimstay.
Itturnedoutokay.Mymothergotridoftheverminandhe’sa
bornmouser.Evencatchestheoccasionalrat.Sometimes,whenI
cleanakill,IfeedButtercuptheentrails.Hehasstoppedhissing
atme.
Entrails.Nohissing.Thisistheclosestwewillevercometo
love.
Iswingmylegsoffthebedandslideintomyhuntingboots.
Suppleleatherthathasmoldedtomyfeet.Ipullontrousers,a
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shirt,tuckmylongdarkbraidupintoacap,andgrabmyforage
bag.Onthetable,underawoodenbowltoprotectitfromhungry
ratsandcatsalike,sitsaperfectlittlegoatcheesewrappedin
basilleaves.Prim’sgifttomeonreapingday.Iputthecheese
carefullyinmypocketasIslipoutside.
OurpartofDistrict12,nicknamedtheSeam,isusually
crawlingwithcoalminersheadingouttothemorningshiftat
thishour.Menandwomenwithhunchedshoulders,swollen
knuckles,manywhohavelongsincestoppedtryingtoscrubthe
coaldustoutoftheirbrokennails,thelinesoftheirsunkenfaces.
Buttodaytheblackcinderstreetsareempty.Shuttersonthe
squatgrayhousesareclosed.Thereapingisn’tuntiltwo.Mayas
wellsleepin.Ifyoucan.
OurhouseisalmostattheedgeoftheSeam.Ionlyhaveto
passafewgatestoreachthescruffyfieldcalledtheMeadow.
SeparatingtheMeadowfromthewoods,infactenclosingallof
District12,isahighchain-linkfencetoppedwithbarbed-wire
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loops.Intheory,it’ssupposedtobeelectrifiedtwenty-fourhours
adayasadeterrenttothepredatorsthatliveinthewoods—
packsofwilddogs,lonecougars,bears—thatusedtothreaten
ourstreets.Butsincewe’reluckytogettwoorthreehoursof
electricityintheevenings,it’susuallysafetotouch.Evenso,I
alwaystakeamomenttolistencarefullyforthehumthatmeans
thefenceislive.Rightnow,it’ssilentasastone.Concealedbya
clumpofbushes,Iflattenoutonmybellyandslideunderatwo-
footstretchthat’sbeenlooseforyears.Thereareseveralother
weakspotsinthefence,butthisoneissoclosetohomeIalmost
alwaysenterthewoodshere.
AssoonasI’minthetrees,Iretrieveabowandsheathof
arrowsfromahollowlog.Electrifiedornot,thefencehasbeen
successfulatkeepingtheflesh-eatersoutofDistrict12.Inside
thewoodstheyroamfreely,andthereareaddedconcernslike
venomoussnakes,rabidanimals,andnorealpathstofollow.But
there’salsofoodifyouknowhowtofindit.Myfatherknewand
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hetaughtmesomebeforehewasblowntobitsinamine
explosion.Therewasnothingeventobury.Iwaseleventhen.
Fiveyearslater,Istillwakeupscreamingforhimtorun.
Eventhoughtrespassinginthewoodsisillegalandpoaching
carriestheseverestofpenalties,morepeoplewouldriskitif
theyhadweapons.Butmostarenotboldenoughtoventureout
withjustaknife.Mybowisararity,craftedbymyfatheralong
withafewothersthatIkeepwellhiddeninthewoods,carefully
wrappedinwaterproofcovers.Myfathercouldhavemadegood
moneysellingthem,butiftheofficialsfoundouthewouldhave
beenpubliclyexecutedforincitingarebellion.Mostofthe
Peacekeepersturnablindeyetothefewofuswhohuntbecause
they’reashungryforfreshmeatasanybodyis.Infact,they’re
amongourbestcustomers.Buttheideathatsomeonemightbe
armingtheSeamwouldneverhavebeenallowed.
Inthefall,afewbravesoulssneakintothewoodstoharvest
apples.ButalwaysinsightoftheMeadow.Alwayscloseenough
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torunbacktothesafetyofDistrict12iftroublearises.“District
Twelve.Whereyoucanstarvetodeathinsafety,”Imutter.Then
Iglancequicklyovermyshoulder.Evenhere,eveninthemiddle
ofnowhere,youworrysomeonemightoverhearyou.
WhenIwasyounger,Iscaredmymothertodeath,thethings
IwouldblurtoutaboutDistrict12,aboutthepeoplewhoruleour
country,Panem,fromthefar-offcitycalledtheCapitol.
EventuallyIunderstoodthiswouldonlyleadustomoretrouble.
SoIlearnedtoholdmytongueandtoturnmyfeaturesintoan
indifferentmasksothatnoonecouldeverreadmythoughts.Do
myworkquietlyinschool.Makeonlypolitesmalltalkinthe
publicmarket.DiscusslittlemorethantradesintheHob,which
istheblackmarketwhereImakemostofmymoney.Evenat
home,whereIamlesspleasant,Iavoiddiscussingtrickytopics.
Likethereaping,orfoodshortages,ortheHungerGames.Prim
mightbegintorepeatmywordsandthenwherewouldwebe?
InthewoodswaitstheonlypersonwithwhomIcanbe
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myself.Gale.Icanfeelthemusclesinmyfacerelaxing,mypace
quickeningasIclimbthehillstoourplace,arockledge
overlookingavalley.Athicketofberrybushesprotectsitfrom
unwantedeyes.Thesightofhimwaitingtherebringsonasmile.
GalesaysIneversmileexceptinthewoods.
“Hey,Catnip,”saysGale.MyrealnameisKatniss,butwhen
Ifirsttoldhim,Ihadbarelywhisperedit.SohethoughtI’dsaid
Catnip.Thenwhenthiscrazylynxstartedfollowingmearound
thewoodslookingforhandouts,itbecamehisofficialnickname
forme.Ifinallyhadtokillthelynxbecausehescaredoffgame.
Ialmostregretteditbecausehewasn’tbadcompany.ButIgota
decentpriceforhispelt.
“LookwhatIshot.”Galeholdsupaloafofbreadwithan
arrowstuckinit,andIlaugh.It’srealbakerybread,nottheflat,
denseloaveswemakefromourgrainrations.Itakeitinmy
hands,pulloutthearrow,andholdthepunctureinthecrustto
mynose,inhalingthefragrancethatmakesmymouthfloodwith
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saliva.Finebreadlikethisisforspecialoccasions.
“Mm,stillwarm,”Isay.Hemusthavebeenatthebakeryat
thecrackofdawntotradeforit.“Whatdiditcostyou?”
“Justasquirrel.Thinktheoldmanwasfeelingsentimental
thismorning,”saysGale.“Evenwishedmeluck.”
“Well,weallfeelalittleclosertoday,don’twe?”Isay,not
evenbotheringtorollmyeyes.“Primleftusacheese.”Ipullit
out.
Hisexpressionbrightensatthetreat.“Thankyou,Prim.
We’llhavearealfeast.”SuddenlyhefallsintoaCapitolaccent
ashemimicsEffieTrinket,themaniacallyupbeatwomanwho
arrivesonceayeartoreadoutthenamesatthereaping.“I
almostforgot!HappyHungerGames!”Heplucksafew
blackberriesfromthebushesaroundus.“Andmaytheodds—”
Hetossesaberryinahigharctowardme.
Icatchitinmymouthandbreakthedelicateskinwithmy
teeth.Thesweettartnessexplodesacrossmytongue.“—beever
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inyourfavor!”Ifinishwithequalverve.Wehavetojokeabout
itbecausethealternativeistobescaredoutofyourwits.
Besides,theCapitolaccentissoaffected,almostanything
soundsfunnyinit.
IwatchasGalepullsouthisknifeandslicesthebread.He
couldbemybrother.Straightblackhair,oliveskin,weeven
havethesamegrayeyes.Butwe’renotrelated,atleastnot
closely.Mostofthefamilieswhoworktheminesresembleone
anotherthisway.
That’swhymymotherandPrim,withtheirlighthairand
blueeyes,alwayslookoutofplace.Theyare.Mymother’s
parentswerepartofthesmallmerchantclassthatcatersto
officials,Peacekeepers,andtheoccasionalSeamcustomer.They
rananapothecaryshopinthenicerpartofDistrict12.Since
almostnoonecanafforddoctors,apothecariesareourhealers.
Myfathergottoknowmymotherbecauseonhishuntshewould
sometimescollectmedicinalherbsandsellthemtohershopto
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bebrewedintoremedies.Shemusthavereallylovedhimto
leaveherhomefortheSeam.ItrytorememberthatwhenallI
canseeisthewomanwhosatby,blankandunreachable,while
herchildrenturnedtoskinandbones.Itrytoforgiveherformy
father’ssake.Buttobehonest,I’mnottheforgivingtype.
Galespreadsthebreadsliceswiththesoftgoatcheese,
carefullyplacingabasilleafoneachwhileIstripthebushesof
theirberries.Wesettlebackinanookintherocks.Fromthis
place,weareinvisiblebuthaveaclearviewofthevalley,which
isteemingwithsummerlife,greenstogather,rootstodig,fish
iridescentinthesunlight.Thedayisglorious,withabluesky
andsoftbreeze.Thefood’swonderful,withthecheeseseeping
intothewarmbreadandtheberriesburstinginourmouths.
Everythingwouldbeperfectifthisreallywasaholiday,ifallthe
dayoffmeantwasroamingthemountainswithGale,huntingfor
tonight’ssupper.Butinsteadwehavetobestandinginthe
squareattwoo’clockwaitingforthenamestobecalledout.
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“Wecoulddoit,youknow,”Galesaysquietly.
“What?”Iask.
“Leavethedistrict.Runoff.Liveinthewoods.YouandI,
wecouldmakeit,”saysGale.
Idon’tknowhowtorespond.Theideaissopreposterous.
“Ifwedidn’thavesomanykids,”headdsquickly.
They’renotourkids,ofcourse.Buttheymightaswellbe.
Gale’stwolittlebrothersandasister.Prim.Andyoumayaswell
throwinourmothers,too,becausehowwouldtheylivewithout
us?Whowouldfillthosemouthsthatarealwaysaskingfor
more?Withbothofushuntingdaily,therearestillnightswhen
gamehastobeswappedforlardorshoelacesorwool,stillnights
whenwegotobedwithourstomachsgrowling.
“Ineverwanttohavekids,”Isay.
“Imight.IfIdidn’tlivehere,”saysGale.
“Butyoudo,”Isay,irritated.
“Forgetit,”hesnapsback.
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Theconversationfeelsallwrong.Leave?HowcouldIleave
Prim,whoistheonlypersonintheworldI’mcertainIlove?And
Galeisdevotedtohisfamily.Wecan’tleave,sowhybother
talkingaboutit?Andevenifwedid...evenifwedid...where
didthisstuffabouthavingkidscomefrom?There’sneverbeen
anythingromanticbetweenGaleandme.Whenwemet,Iwasa
skinnytwelve-year-old,andalthoughhewasonlytwoyears
older,healreadylookedlikeaman.Ittookalongtimeforusto
evenbecomefriends,tostophagglingovereverytradeandbegin
helpingeachotherout.
Besides,ifhewantskids,Galewon’thaveanytrouble
findingawife.He’sgood-looking,he’sstrongenoughtohandle
theworkinthemines,andhecanhunt.Youcantellbytheway
thegirlswhisperabouthimwhenhewalksbyinschoolthatthey
wanthim.Itmakesmejealousbutnotforthereasonpeople
wouldthink.Goodhuntingpartnersarehardtofind.
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”Iask.Wecanhunt,fish,or
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gather.
“Let’sfishatthelake.Wecanleaveourpolesandgatherin
thewoods.Getsomethingnicefortonight,”hesays.
Tonight.Afterthereaping,everyoneissupposedto
celebrate.Andalotofpeopledo,outofreliefthattheirchildren
havebeensparedforanotheryear.Butatleasttwofamilieswill
pulltheirshutters,locktheirdoors,andtrytofigureouthow
theywillsurvivethepainfulweekstocome.
Wemakeoutwell.Thepredatorsignoreusonadaywhen
easier,tastierpreyabounds.Bylatemorning,wehaveadozen
fish,abagofgreensand,bestofall,agallonofstrawberries.I
foundthepatchafewyearsago,butGalehadtheideatostring
meshnetsaroundittokeepouttheanimals.
Onthewayhome,weswingbytheHob,theblackmarket
thatoperatesinanabandonedwarehousethatonceheldcoal.
Whentheycameupwithamoreefficientsystemthattransported
thecoaldirectlyfromtheminestothetrains,theHobgradually
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tookoverthespace.Mostbusinessesareclosedbythistimeon
reapingday,buttheblackmarket’sstillfairlybusy.Weeasily
tradesixofthefishforgoodbread,theothertwoforsalt.Greasy
Sae,thebonyoldwomanwhosellsbowlsofhotsoupfroma
largekettle,takeshalfthegreensoffourhandsinexchangefora
coupleofchunksofparaffin.Wemightdoatadbetter
elsewhere,butwemakeanefforttokeepongoodtermswith
GreasySae.She’stheonlyonewhocanconsistentlybecounted
ontobuywilddog.Wedon’thuntthemonpurpose,butifyou’re
attackedandyoutakeoutadogortwo,well,meatismeat.
“Onceit’sinthesoup,I’llcallitbeef,”GreasySaesayswitha
wink.NooneintheSeamwouldturnuptheirnoseatagoodleg
ofwilddog,butthePeacekeeperswhocometotheHobcan
affordtobealittlechoosier.
Whenwefinishourbusinessatthemarket,wegototheback
doorofthemayor’shousetosellhalfthestrawberries,knowing
hehasaparticularfondnessforthemandcanaffordourprice.
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Themayor’sdaughter,Madge,opensthedoor.She’sinmyyear
atschool.Beingthemayor’sdaughter,you’dexpecthertobea
snob,butshe’sallright.Shejustkeepstoherself.Likeme.Since
neitherofusreallyhasagroupoffriends,weseemtoendup
togetheralotatschool.Eatinglunch,sittingnexttoeachotherat
assemblies,partneringforsportsactivities.Werarelytalk,which
suitsusbothjustfine.
Todayherdrabschooloutfithasbeenreplacedbyan
expensivewhitedress,andherblondehairisdoneupwithapink
ribbon.Reapingclothes.
“Prettydress,”saysGale.
Madgeshootshimalook,tryingtoseeifit’sagenuine
complimentorifhe’sjustbeingironic.Itisaprettydress,but
shewouldneverbewearingitordinarily.Shepressesherlips
togetherandthensmiles.“Well,ifIendupgoingtotheCapitol,
Iwanttolooknice,don’tI?”
Nowit’sGale’sturntobeconfused.Doesshemeanit?Oris
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shemessingwithhim?I’mguessingthesecond.
“Youwon’tbegoingtotheCapitol,”saysGalecoolly.His
eyeslandonasmall,circularpinthatadornsherdress.Real
gold.Beautifullycrafted.Itcouldkeepafamilyinbreadfor
months.“Whatcanyouhave?Fiveentries?IhadsixwhenIwas
justtwelveyearsold.”
“That’snotherfault,”Isay.
“No,it’snoone’sfault.Justthewayitis,”saysGale.
Madge’sfacehasbecomeclosedoff.Sheputsthemoneyfor
theberriesinmyhand.“Goodluck,Katniss.”
“You,too,”Isay,andthedoorcloses.
WewalktowardtheSeaminsilence.Idon’tlikethatGale
tookadigatMadge,buthe’sright,ofcourse.Thereaping
systemisunfair,withthepoorgettingtheworstofit.You
becomeeligibleforthereapingthedayyouturntwelve.That
year,yournameisenteredonce.Atthirteen,twice.Andsoon
andsoonuntilyoureachtheageofeighteen,thefinalyearof
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eligibility,whenyournamegoesintothepoolseventimes.
That’strueforeverycitizeninalltwelvedistrictsintheentire
countryofPanem.
Buthere’sthecatch.Sayyouarepoorandstarvingaswe
were.Youcanopttoaddyournamemoretimesinexchangefor
tesserae.Eachtesseraisworthameageryear’ssupplyofgrain
andoilforoneperson.Youmaydothisforeachofyourfamily
membersaswell.So,attheageoftwelve,Ihadmyname
enteredfourtimes.Once,becauseIhadto,andthreetimesfor
tesseraeforgrainandoilformyself,Prim,andmymother.In
fact,everyyearIhaveneededtodothis.Andtheentriesare
cumulative.Sonow,attheageofsixteen,mynamewillbeinthe
reapingtwentytimes.Gale,whoiseighteenandhasbeeneither
helpingorsingle-handedlyfeedingafamilyoffiveforseven
years,willhavehisnameinforty-twotimes.
YoucanseewhysomeonelikeMadge,whohasneverbeen
atriskofneedingatessera,cansethimoff.Thechanceofher
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namebeingdrawnisveryslimcomparedtothoseofuswholive
intheSeam.Notimpossible,butslim.Andeventhoughtherules
weresetupbytheCapitol,notthedistricts,certainlynot
Madge’sfamily,it’shardnottoresentthosewhodon’thaveto
signupfortesserae.
GaleknowshisangeratMadgeismisdirected.Onother
days,deepinthewoods,I’velistenedtohimrantabouthowthe
tesseraearejustanothertooltocausemiseryinourdistrict.A
waytoplanthatredbetweenthestarvingworkersoftheSeam
andthosewhocangenerallycountonsupperandtherebyensure
wewillnevertrustoneanother.“It’stotheCapitol’sadvantage
tohaveusdividedamongourselves,”hemightsayiftherewere
noearstohearbutmine.Ifitwasn’treapingday.Ifagirlwitha
goldpinandnotesseraehadnotmadewhatI’msureshethought
wasaharmlesscomment.
Aswewalk,IglanceoveratGale’sface,stillsmoldering
underneathhisstonyexpression.Hisragesseempointlesstome,
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althoughIneversayso.It’snotthatIdon’tagreewithhim.Ido.
ButwhatgoodisyellingabouttheCapitolinthemiddleofthe
woods?Itdoesn’tchangeanything.Itdoesn’tmakethingsfair.It
doesn’tfillourstomachs.Infact,itscaresoffthenearbygame.I
lethimyellthough.Betterhedoesitinthewoodsthaninthe
district.
GaleandIdivideourspoils,leavingtwofish,acoupleof
loavesofgoodbread,greens,aquartofstrawberries,salt,
paraffin,andabitofmoneyforeach.
“Seeyouinthesquare,”Isay.
“Wearsomethingpretty,”hesaysflatly.
Athome,Ifindmymotherandsisterarereadytogo.My
motherwearsafinedressfromherapothecarydays.Primisin
myfirstreapingoutfit,askirtandruffledblouse.It’sabitbigon
her,butmymotherhasmadeitstaywithpins.Evenso,she’s
havingtroublekeepingtheblousetuckedinattheback.
Atubofwarmwaterwaitsforme.Iscruboffthedirtand
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sweatfromthewoodsandevenwashmyhair.Tomysurprise,
mymotherhaslaidoutoneofherownlovelydressesforme.A
softbluethingwithmatchingshoes.
“Areyousure?”Iask.I’mtryingtogetpastrejectingoffers
ofhelpfromher.Forawhile,Iwassoangry,Iwouldn’tallow
hertodoanythingforme.Andthisissomethingspecial.Her
clothesfromherpastareveryprecioustoher.
“Ofcourse.Let’sputyourhairup,too,”shesays.Ilether
towel-dryitandbraidituponmyhead.Icanhardlyrecognize
myselfinthecrackedmirrorthatleansagainstthewall.
“Youlookbeautiful,”saysPriminahushedvoice.
“Andnothinglikemyself,”Isay.Ihugher,becauseIknow
thesenextfewhourswillbeterribleforher.Herfirstreaping.
She’saboutassafeasyoucanget,sinceshe’sonlyenteredonce.
Iwouldn’tlethertakeoutanytesserae.Butshe’sworriedabout
me.Thattheunthinkablemighthappen.
IprotectPrimineverywayIcan,butI’mpowerlessagainst
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thereaping.TheanguishIalwaysfeelwhenshe’sinpainwells
upinmychestandthreatenstoregisteronmyface.Inoticeher
blousehaspulledoutofherskirtinthebackagainandforce
myselftostaycalm.“Tuckyourtailin,littleduck,”Isay,
smoothingtheblousebackinplace.
Primgigglesandgivesmeasmall“Quack.”
“Quackyourself,”Isaywithalightlaugh.Thekindonly
Primcandrawoutofme.“Comeon,let’seat,”Isayandplanta
quickkissonthetopofherhead.
Thefishandgreensarealreadycookinginastew,butthat
willbeforsupper.Wedecidetosavethestrawberriesandbakery
breadforthisevening’smeal,tomakeitspecialwesay.Instead
wedrinkmilkfromPrim’sgoat,Lady,andeattheroughbread
madefromthetesseragrain,althoughnoonehasmuchappetite
anyway.
Atoneo’clock,weheadforthesquare.Attendanceis
mandatoryunlessyouareondeath’sdoor.Thisevening,officials
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willcomearoundandchecktoseeifthisisthecase.Ifnot,
you’llbeimprisoned.
It’stoobad,really,thattheyholdthereapinginthesquare
—oneofthefewplacesinDistrict12thatcanbepleasant.The
square’ssurroundedbyshops,andonpublicmarketdays,
especiallyifthere’sgoodweather,ithasaholidayfeeltoit.But
today,despitethebrightbannershangingonthebuildings,
there’sanairofgrimness.Thecameracrews,perchedlike
buzzardsonrooftops,onlyaddtotheeffect.
Peoplefileinsilentlyandsignin.Thereapingisagood
opportunityfortheCapitoltokeeptabsonthepopulationas
well.Twelve-througheighteen-year-oldsareherdedintoroped
areasmarkedoffbyages,theoldestinthefront,theyoungones,
likePrim,towardtheback.Familymemberslineuparoundthe
perimeter,holdingtightlytooneanother’shands.Butthereare
others,too,whohavenoonetheyloveatstake,orwhonolonger
care,whoslipamongthecrowd,takingbetsonthetwokids
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whosenameswillbedrawn.Oddsaregivenontheirages,
whetherthey’reSeamormerchant,iftheywillbreakdownand
weep.Mostrefusedealingwiththeracketeersbutcarefully,
carefully.Thesesamepeopletendtobeinformers,andwho
hasn’tbrokenthelaw?Icouldbeshotonadailybasisfor
hunting,buttheappetitesofthoseinchargeprotectme.Not
everyonecanclaimthesame.
Anyway,GaleandIagreethatifwehavetochoosebetween
dyingofhungerandabulletinthehead,thebulletwouldbe
muchquicker.
Thespacegetstighter,moreclaustrophobicaspeoplearrive.
Thesquare’squitelarge,butnotenoughtoholdDistrict12’s
populationofabouteightthousand.Latecomersaredirectedto
theadjacentstreets,wheretheycanwatchtheeventonscreensas
it’stelevisedlivebythestate.
IfindmyselfstandinginaclumpofsixteensfromtheSeam.
Weallexchangetersenodsthenfocusourattentiononthe
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temporarystagethatissetupbeforetheJusticeBuilding.It
holdsthreechairs,apodium,andtwolargeglassballs,onefor
theboysandoneforthegirls.Istareatthepaperslipsinthe
girls’ball.TwentyofthemhaveKatnissEverdeenwrittenon
themincarefulhandwriting.
TwoofthethreechairsfillwithMadge’sfather,Mayor
Undersee,who’satall,baldingman,andEffieTrinket,District
12’sescort,freshfromtheCapitolwithherscarywhitegrin,
pinkishhair,andspringgreensuit.Theymurmurtoeachother
andthenlookwithconcernattheemptyseat.
Justasthetownclockstrikestwo,themayorstepsuptothe
podiumandbeginstoread.It’sthesamestoryeveryyear.He
tellsofthehistoryofPanem,thecountrythatroseupoutofthe
ashesofaplacethatwasoncecalledNorthAmerica.Heliststhe
disasters,thedroughts,thestorms,thefires,theencroachingseas
thatswallowedupsomuchoftheland,thebrutalwarforwhat
littlesustenanceremained.TheresultwasPanem,ashining
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Capitolringedbythirteendistricts,whichbroughtpeaceand
prosperitytoitscitizens.ThencametheDarkDays,theuprising
ofthedistrictsagainsttheCapitol.Twelveweredefeated,the
thirteenthobliterated.TheTreatyofTreasongaveusthenew
lawstoguaranteepeaceand,asouryearlyreminderthattheDark
Daysmustneverberepeated,itgaveustheHungerGames.
TherulesoftheHungerGamesaresimple.Inpunishment
fortheuprising,eachofthetwelvedistrictsmustprovideone
girlandoneboy,calledtributes,toparticipate.Thetwenty-four
tributeswillbeimprisonedinavastoutdoorarenathatcould
holdanythingfromaburningdeserttoafrozenwasteland.Over
aperiodofseveralweeks,thecompetitorsmustfighttothe
death.Thelasttributestandingwins.
Takingthekidsfromourdistricts,forcingthemtokillone
anotherwhilewewatch—thisistheCapitol’swayofreminding
ushowtotallyweareattheirmercy.Howlittlechancewewould
standofsurvivinganotherrebellion.Whateverwordstheyuse,
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therealmessageisclear.“Lookhowwetakeyourchildrenand
sacrificethemandthere’snothingyoucando.Ifyoulifta
finger,wewilldestroyeverylastoneofyou.Justaswedidin
DistrictThirteen.”
Tomakeithumiliatingaswellastorturous,theCapitol
requiresustotreattheHungerGamesasafestivity,asporting
eventpittingeverydistrictagainsttheothers.Thelasttribute
alivereceivesalifeofeasebackhome,andtheirdistrictwillbe
showeredwithprizes,largelyconsistingoffood.Allyear,the
Capitolwillshowthewinningdistrictgiftsofgrainandoiland
evendelicacieslikesugarwhiletherestofusbattlestarvation.
“Itisbothatimeforrepentanceandatimeforthanks,”
intonesthemayor.
ThenhereadsthelistofpastDistrict12victors.Inseventy-
fouryears,wehavehadexactlytwo.Onlyoneisstillalive.
HaymitchAbernathy,apaunchy,middle-agedman,whoatthis
momentappearsholleringsomethingunintelligible,staggers
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ontothestage,andfallsintothethirdchair.He’sdrunk.Very.
Thecrowdrespondswithitstokenapplause,buthe’sconfused
andtriestogiveEffieTrinketabighug,whichshebarely
managestofendoff.
Themayorlooksdistressed.Sinceallofthisisbeing
televised,rightnowDistrict12isthelaughingstockofPanem,
andheknowsit.Hequicklytriestopulltheattentionbacktothe
reapingbyintroducingEffieTrinket.
Brightandbubblyasever,EffieTrinkettrotstothepodium
andgiveshersignature,“HappyHungerGames!Andmaythe
oddsbeeverinyourfavor!”Herpinkhairmustbeawigbecause
hercurlshaveshiftedslightlyoff-centersinceherencounterwith
Haymitch.Shegoesonabitaboutwhatanhonoritistobehere,
althougheveryoneknowsshe’sjustachingtogetbumpeduptoa
betterdistrictwheretheyhavepropervictors,notdrunkswho
molestyouinfrontoftheentirenation.
Throughthecrowd,IspotGalelookingbackatmewitha
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ghostofasmile.Asreapingsgo,thisoneatleasthasaslight
entertainmentfactor.ButsuddenlyIamthinkingofGaleandhis
forty-twonamesinthatbigglassballandhowtheoddsarenotin
hisfavor.Notcomparedtoalotoftheboys.Andmaybehe’s
thinkingthesamethingaboutmebecausehisfacedarkensand
heturnsaway.“Buttherearestillthousandsofslips,”IwishI
couldwhispertohim.
It’stimeforthedrawing.EffieTrinketsaysasshealways
does,“Ladiesfirst!”andcrossestotheglassballwiththegirls’
names.Shereachesin,digsherhanddeepintotheball,andpulls
outaslipofpaper.Thecrowddrawsinacollectivebreathand
thenyoucanhearapindrop,andI’mfeelingnauseousandso
desperatelyhopingthatit’snotme,thatit’snotme,thatit’snot
me.
EffieTrinketcrossesbacktothepodium,smoothestheslip
ofpaper,andreadsoutthenameinaclearvoice.Andit’snot
me.
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It’sPrimroseEverdeen.
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Onetime,whenIwasinablindinatree,waitingmotionless
forgametowanderby,Idozedoffandfelltenfeettothe
ground,landingonmyback.Itwasasiftheimpacthadknocked
everywispofairfrommylungs,andIlaytherestrugglingto
inhale,toexhale,todoanything.
That’showIfeelnow,tryingtorememberhowtobreathe,
unabletospeak,totallystunnedasthenamebouncesaroundthe
insideofmyskull.Someoneisgrippingmyarm,aboyfromthe
Seam,andIthinkmaybeIstartedtofallandhecaughtme.
Theremusthavebeensomemistake.Thiscan’tbe
happening.Primwasoneslipofpaperinthousands!Herchances
ofbeingchosensoremotethatI’dnotevenbotheredtoworry
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abouther.Hadn’tIdoneeverything?Takenthetesserae,refused
toletherdothesame?Oneslip.Oneslipinthousands.Theodds
hadbeenentirelyinherfavor.Butithadn’tmattered.
Somewherefaraway,Icanhearthecrowdmurmuring
unhappilyastheyalwaysdowhenatwelve-year-oldgetschosen
becausenoonethinksthisisfair.AndthenIseeher,theblood
drainedfromherface,handsclenchedinfistsathersides,
walkingwithstiff,smallstepsuptowardthestage,passingme,
andIseethebackofherblousehasbecomeuntuckedandhangs
outoverherskirt.It’sthisdetail,theuntuckedblouseforminga
ducktail,thatbringsmebacktomyself.
“Prim!”Thestrangledcrycomesoutofmythroat,andmy
musclesbegintomoveagain.“Prim!”Idon’tneedtoshove
throughthecrowd.Theotherkidsmakewayimmediately
allowingmeastraightpathtothestage.Ireachherjustassheis
abouttomountthesteps.Withonesweepofmyarm,Ipushher
behindme.
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“Ivolunteer!”Igasp.“Ivolunteerastribute!”
There’ssomeconfusiononthestage.District12hasn’thada
volunteerindecadesandtheprotocolhasbecomerusty.Therule
isthatonceatribute’snamehasbeenpulledfromtheball,
anothereligibleboy,ifaboy’snamehasbeenread,orgirl,ifa
girl’snamehasbeenread,canstepforwardtotakehisorher
place.Insomedistricts,inwhichwinningthereapingissucha
greathonor,peopleareeagertorisktheirlives,thevolunteering
iscomplicated.ButinDistrict12,wherethewordtributeis
prettymuchsynonymouswiththewordcorpse,volunteersareall
butextinct.
“Lovely!”saysEffieTrinket.“ButIbelievethere’sasmall
matterofintroducingthereapingwinnerandthenaskingfor
volunteers,andifonedoescomeforththenwe,um...”she
trailsoff,unsureherself.
“Whatdoesitmatter?”saysthemayor.He’slookingatme
withapainedexpressiononhisface.Hedoesn’tknowmereally,
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butthere’safaintrecognitionthere.Iamthegirlwhobringsthe
strawberries.Thegirlhisdaughtermighthavespokenofon
occasion.Thegirlwhofiveyearsagostoodhuddledwithher
motherandsister,ashepresentedher,theoldestchild,witha
medalofvalor.Amedalforherfather,vaporizedinthemines.
Doesherememberthat?“Whatdoesitmatter?”herepeats
gruffly.“Lethercomeforward.”
Primisscreaminghystericallybehindme.She’swrappedher
skinnyarmsaroundmelikeavise.“No,Katniss!No!Youcan’t
go!”
“Prim,letgo,”Isayharshly,becausethisisupsettingme
andIdon’twanttocry.Whentheytelevisethereplayofthe
reapingstonight,everyonewillmakenoteofmytears,andI’ll
bemarkedasaneasytarget.Aweakling.Iwillgivenoonethat
satisfaction.“Letgo!”
Icanfeelsomeonepullingherfrommyback.Iturnandsee
GalehasliftedPrimoffthegroundandshe’sthrashinginhis
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arms.“Upyougo,Catnip,”hesays,inavoicehe’sfightingto
keepsteady,andthenhecarriesPrimofftowardmymother.I
steelmyselfandclimbthesteps.
“Well,bravo!”gushesEffieTrinket.“That’sthespiritofthe
Games!”She’spleasedtofinallyhaveadistrictwithalittle
actiongoingoninit.“What’syourname?”
Iswallowhard.“KatnissEverdeen,”Isay.
“Ibetmybuttonsthatwasyoursister.Don’twantherto
stealalltheglory,dowe?Comeon,everybody!Let’sgiveabig
roundofapplausetoournewesttribute!”trillsEffieTrinket.
TotheeverlastingcreditofthepeopleofDistrict12,notone
personclaps.Noteventheonesholdingbettingslips,theones
whoareusuallybeyondcaring.Possiblybecausetheyknowme
fromtheHob,orknewmyfather,orhaveencounteredPrim,who
noonecanhelploving.Soinsteadofacknowledgingapplause,I
standthereunmovingwhiletheytakepartintheboldestformof
dissenttheycanmanage.Silence.Whichsayswedonotagree.
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Wedonotcondone.Allofthisiswrong.
Thensomethingunexpectedhappens.Atleast,Idon’texpect
itbecauseIdon’tthinkofDistrict12asaplacethatcaresabout
me.ButashifthasoccurredsinceIsteppeduptotakePrim’s
place,andnowitseemsIhavebecomesomeoneprecious.At
firstone,thenanother,thenalmosteverymemberofthecrowd
touchesthethreemiddlefingersoftheirlefthandtotheirlips
andholdsitouttome.Itisanoldandrarelyusedgestureofour
district,occasionallyseenatfunerals.Itmeansthanks,itmeans
admiration,itmeansgood-byetosomeoneyoulove.
NowIamtrulyindangerofcrying,butfortunately
Haymitchchoosesthistimetocomestaggeringacrossthestage
tocongratulateme.“Lookather.Lookatthisone!”hehollers,
throwinganarmaroundmyshoulders.He’ssurprisinglystrong
forsuchawreck.“Ilikeher!”Hisbreathreeksofliquorandit’s
beenalongtimesincehe’sbathed.“Lotsof...”Hecan’tthink
ofthewordforawhile.“Spunk!”hesaystriumphantly.“More
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thanyou!”hereleasesmeandstartsforthefrontofthestage.
“Morethanyou!”heshouts,pointingdirectlyintoacamera.
Isheaddressingtheaudienceorishesodrunkhemight
actuallybetauntingtheCapitol?I’llneverknowbecausejustas
he’sopeninghismouthtocontinue,Haymitchplummetsoffthe
stageandknockshimselfunconscious.
He’sdisgusting,butI’mgrateful.Witheverycamera
gleefullytrainedonhim,Ihavejustenoughtimetoreleasethe
small,chokedsoundinmythroatandcomposemyself.Iputmy
handsbehindmybackandstareintothedistance.Icanseethe
hillsIclimbedthismorningwithGale.Foramoment,Iyearnfor
something...theideaofusleavingthedistrict...makingour
wayinthewoods...butIknowIwasrightaboutnotrunning
off.BecausewhoelsewouldhavevolunteeredforPrim?
Haymitchiswhiskedawayonastretcher,andEffieTrinket
istryingtogettheballrollingagain.“Whatanexcitingday!”
shewarblesassheattemptstostraightenherwig,whichhas
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listedseverelytotheright.“Butmoreexcitementtocome!It’s
timetochooseourboytribute!”Clearlyhopingtocontainher
tenuoushairsituation,sheplantsonehandonherheadasshe
crossestotheballthatcontainstheboys’namesandgrabsthe
firstslipsheencounters.Shezipsbacktothepodium,andIdon’t
evenhavetimetowishforGale’ssafetywhenshe’sreadingthe
name.“PeetaMellark.”
PeetaMellark!
Oh,no,Ithink.Nothim.BecauseIrecognizethisname,
althoughIhaveneverspokendirectlytoitsowner.Peeta
Mellark.
No,theoddsarenotinmyfavortoday.
Iwatchhimashemakeshiswaytowardthestage.Medium
height,stockybuild,ashyblondhairthatfallsinwavesoverhis
forehead.Theshockofthemomentisregisteringonhisface,
youcanseehisstruggletoremainemotionless,buthisblueeyes
showthealarmI’veseensoofteninprey.Yetheclimbssteadily
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ontothestageandtakeshisplace.
EffieTrinketasksforvolunteers,butnoonestepsforward.
Hehastwoolderbrothers,Iknow,I’veseentheminthebakery,
butoneisprobablytoooldnowtovolunteerandtheotherwon’t.
Thisisstandard.Familydevotiononlygoessofarformost
peopleonreapingday.WhatIdidwastheradicalthing.
Themayorbeginstoreadthelong,dullTreatyofTreasonas
hedoeseveryyearatthispoint—it’srequired—butI’mnot
listeningtoaword.
Whyhim?Ithink.ThenItrytoconvincemyselfitdoesn’t
matter.PeetaMellarkandIarenotfriends.Notevenneighbors.
Wedon’tspeak.Ouronlyrealinteractionhappenedyearsago.
He’sprobablyforgottenit.ButIhaven’tandIknowIneverwill.
...
Itwasduringtheworsttime.Myfatherhadbeenkilledin
themineaccidentthreemonthsearlierinthebitterestJanuary
anyonecouldremember.Thenumbnessofhislosshadpassed,
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andthepainwouldhitmeoutofnowhere,doublingmeover,
rackingmybodywithsobs.Whereareyou?Iwouldcryoutin
mymind.Wherehaveyougone?Ofcourse,therewasneverany
answer.
Thedistricthadgivenusasmallamountofmoneyas
compensationforhisdeath,enoughtocoveronemonthof
grievingatwhichtimemymotherwouldbeexpectedtogeta
job.Onlyshedidn’t.Shedidn’tdoanythingbutsitproppedupin
achairor,moreoften,huddledundertheblanketsonherbed,
eyesfixedonsomepointinthedistance.Onceinawhile,she’d
stir,getupasifmovedbysomeurgentpurpose,onlytothen
collapsebackintostillness.NoamountofpleadingfromPrim
seemedtoaffecther.
Iwasterrified.Isupposenowthatmymotherwaslockedin
somedarkworldofsadness,butatthetime,allIknewwasthatI
hadlostnotonlyafather,butamotheraswell.Atelevenyears
old,withPrimjustseven,Itookoverasheadofthefamily.
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Therewasnochoice.Iboughtourfoodatthemarketandcooked
itasbestIcouldandtriedtokeepPrimandmyselflooking
presentable.Becauseifithadbecomeknownthatmymother
couldnolongercareforus,thedistrictwouldhavetakenus
awayfromherandplacedusinthecommunityhome.I’dgrown
upseeingthosehomekidsatschool.Thesadness,themarksof
angryhandsontheirfaces,thehopelessnessthatcurledtheir
shouldersforward.IcouldneverletthathappentoPrim.Sweet,
tinyPrimwhocriedwhenIcriedbeforesheevenknewthe
reason,whobrushedandplaitedmymother’shairbeforeweleft
forschool,whostillpolishedmyfather’sshavingmirroreach
nightbecausehe’dhatedthelayerofcoaldustthatsettledon
everythingintheSeam.Thecommunityhomewouldcrushher
likeabug.SoIkeptourpredicamentasecret.
Butthemoneyranoutandwewereslowlystarvingtodeath.
There’snootherwaytoputit.IkepttellingmyselfifIcould
onlyholdoutuntilMay,justMay8th,Iwouldturntwelveand
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beabletosignupforthetesseraeandgetthatpreciousgrainand
oiltofeedus.Onlytherewerestillseveralweekstogo.We
couldwellbedeadbythen.
Starvation’snotanuncommonfateinDistrict12.Who
hasn’tseenthevictims?Olderpeoplewhocan’twork.Children
fromafamilywithtoomanytofeed.Thoseinjuredinthemines.
Stragglingthroughthestreets.Andoneday,youcomeupon
themsittingmotionlessagainstawallorlyingintheMeadow,
youhearthewailsfromahouse,andthePeacekeepersarecalled
intoretrievethebody.Starvationisneverthecauseofdeath
officially.It’salwaystheflu,orexposure,orpneumonia.But
thatfoolsnoone.
OntheafternoonofmyencounterwithPeetaMellark,the
rainwasfallinginrelentlessicysheets.Ihadbeenintown,
tryingtotradesomethreadbareoldbabyclothesofPrim’sinthe
publicmarket,buttherewerenotakers.AlthoughIhadbeento
theHobonseveraloccasionswithmyfather,Iwastoo
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frightenedtoventureintothatrough,grittyplacealone.Therain
hadsoakedthroughmyfather’shuntingjacket,leavingme
chilledtothebone.Forthreedays,we’dhadnothingbutboiled
waterwithsomeolddriedmintleavesI’dfoundinthebackofa
cupboard.Bythetimethemarketclosed,IwasshakingsohardI
droppedmybundleofbabyclothesinamudpuddle.Ididn’t
pickitupforfearIwouldkeeloverandbeunabletoregainmy
feet.Besides,noonewantedthoseclothes.
Icouldn’tgohome.Becauseathomewasmymotherwith
herdeadeyesandmylittlesister,withherhollowcheeksand
crackedlips.Icouldn’twalkintothatroomwiththesmokyfire
fromthedampbranchesIhadscavengedattheedgeofthe
woodsafterthecoalhadrunout,myhandsemptyofanyhope.
Ifoundmyselfstumblingalongamuddylanebehindthe
shopsthatservethewealthiesttownspeople.Themerchantslive
abovetheirbusinesses,soIwasessentiallyintheirbackyards.I
remembertheoutlinesofgardenbedsnotyetplantedforthe
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spring,agoatortwoinapen,onesoddendogtiedtoapost,
huncheddefeatedinthemuck.
AllformsofstealingareforbiddeninDistrict12.Punishable
bydeath.Butitcrossedmymindthattheremightbesomething
inthetrashbins,andthosewerefairgame.Perhapsaboneatthe
butcher’sorrottedvegetablesatthegrocer’s,somethingnoone
butmyfamilywasdesperateenoughtoeat.Unfortunately,the
binshadjustbeenemptied.
WhenIpassedthebaker’s,thesmelloffreshbreadwasso
overwhelmingIfeltdizzy.Theovenswereintheback,anda
goldenglowspilledouttheopenkitchendoor.Istood
mesmerizedbytheheatandthelusciousscentuntiltherain
interfered,runningitsicyfingersdownmyback,forcingme
backtolife.Iliftedthelidtothebaker’strashbinandfoundit
spotlessly,heartlesslybare.
SuddenlyavoicewasscreamingatmeandIlookeduptosee
thebaker’swife,tellingmetomoveonanddidIwanthertocall
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thePeacekeepersandhowsickshewasofhavingthosebrats
fromtheSeampawingthroughhertrash.Thewordswereugly
andIhadnodefense.AsIcarefullyreplacedthelidandbacked
away,Inoticedhim,aboywithblondhairpeeringoutfrom
behindhismother’sback.I’dseenhimatschool.Hewasinmy
year,butIdidn’tknowhisname.Hestuckwiththetownkids,so
howwouldI?Hismotherwentbackintothebakery,grumbling,
buthemusthavebeenwatchingmeasImademywaybehindthe
penthatheldtheirpigandleanedagainstthefarsideofanold
appletree.TherealizationthatI’dhavenothingtotakehomehad
finallysunkin.MykneesbuckledandIsliddownthetreetrunk
toitsroots.Itwastoomuch.Iwastoosickandweakandtired,
oh,sotired.LetthemcallthePeacekeepersandtakeustothe
communityhome,Ithought.Orbetteryet,letmedierightherein
therain.
TherewasaclatterinthebakeryandIheardthewoman
screamingagainandthesoundofablow,andIvaguely
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wonderedwhatwasgoingon.Feetsloshedtowardmethrough
themudandIthought,It’sher.She’scomingtodrivemeaway
withastick.Butitwasn’ther.Itwastheboy.Inhisarms,he
carriedtwolargeloavesofbreadthatmusthavefallenintothe
firebecausethecrustswerescorchedblack.
Hismotherwasyelling,“Feedittothepig,youstupid
creature!Whynot?Noonedecentwillbuyburnedbread!”
Hebegantotearoffchunksfromtheburnedpartsandtoss
themintothetrough,andthefrontbakerybellrungandthe
motherdisappearedtohelpacustomer.
Theboyneverevenglancedmyway,butIwaswatching
him.Becauseofthebread,becauseoftheredwealthatstoodout
onhischeekbone.Whathadshehithimwith?Myparentsnever
hitus.Icouldn’tevenimagineit.Theboytookonelookbackto
thebakeryasifcheckingthatthecoastwasclear,then,his
attentionbackonthepig,hethrewaloafofbreadinmy
direction.Thesecondquicklyfollowed,andhesloshedbackto
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thebakery,closingthekitchendoortightlybehindhim.
Istaredattheloavesindisbelief.Theywerefine,perfect
really,exceptfortheburnedareas.Didhemeanformetohave
them?Hemusthave.Becausetheretheywereatmyfeet.Before
anyonecouldwitnesswhathadhappenedIshovedtheloavesup
undermyshirt,wrappedthehuntingjackettightlyaboutme,and
walkedswiftlyaway.Theheatofthebreadburnedintomyskin,
butIclutchedittighter,clingingtolife.
BythetimeIreachedhome,theloaveshadcooled
somewhat,buttheinsideswerestillwarm.WhenIdroppedthem
onthetable,Prim’shandsreachedtotearoffachunk,butImade
hersit,forcedmymothertojoinusatthetable,andpoured
warmtea.Iscrapedofftheblackstuffandslicedthebread.We
ateanentireloaf,slicebyslice.Itwasgoodheartybread,filled
withraisinsandnuts.
Iputmyclothestodryatthefire,crawledintobed,andfell
intoadreamlesssleep.Itdidn’toccurtomeuntilthenext
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morningthattheboymighthaveburnedthebreadonpurpose.
Mighthavedroppedtheloavesintotheflames,knowingitmeant
beingpunished,andthendeliveredthemtome.ButIdismissed
this.Itmusthavebeenanaccident.Whywouldhehavedoneit?
Hedidn’tevenknowme.Still,justthrowingmethebreadwasan
enormouskindnessthatwouldhavesurelyresultedinabeating
ifdiscovered.Icouldn’texplainhisactions.
Weateslicesofbreadforbreakfastandheadedtoschool.It
wasasifspringhadcomeovernight.Warmsweetair.Fluffy
clouds.Atschool,Ipassedtheboyinthehall,hischeekhad
swelledupandhiseyehadblackened.Hewaswithhisfriends
anddidn’tacknowledgemeinanyway.ButasIcollectedPrim
andstartedforhomethatafternoon,Ifoundhimstaringatme
fromacrosstheschoolyard.Oureyesmetforonlyasecond,
thenheturnedhisheadaway.Idroppedmygaze,embarrassed,
andthat’swhenIsawit.Thefirstdandelionoftheyear.Abell
wentoffinmyhead.Ithoughtofthehoursspentinthewoods
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withmyfatherandIknewhowweweregoingtosurvive.
Tothisday,Icannevershaketheconnectionbetweenthis
boy,PeetaMellark,andthebreadthatgavemehope,andthe
dandelionthatremindedmethatIwasnotdoomed.Andmore
thanonce,Ihaveturnedintheschoolhallwayandcaughthis
eyestrainedonme,onlytoquicklyflitaway.IfeellikeIowe
himsomething,andIhateowingpeople.MaybeifIhadthanked
himatsomepoint,I’dbefeelinglessconflictednow.Ithought
aboutitacoupleoftimes,buttheopportunityneverseemedto
presentitself.Andnowitneverwill.Becausewe’regoingtobe
thrownintoanarenatofighttothedeath.ExactlyhowamI
supposedtoworkinathank-youinthere?Somehowitjustwon’t
seemsincereifI’mtryingtoslithisthroat.
ThemayorfinishesthedrearyTreatyofTreasonandmotions
forPeetaandmetoshakehands.Hisareassolidandwarmas
thoseloavesofbread.Peetalooksmerightintheeyeandgives
myhandwhatIthinkismeanttobeareassuringsqueeze.Maybe
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it’sjustanervousspasm.
WeturnbacktofacethecrowdastheanthemofPanem
plays.
Oh,well,Ithink.Therewillbetwenty-fourofus.Oddsare
someoneelsewillkillhimbeforeIdo.
Ofcourse,theoddshavenotbeenverydependableoflate.
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Themomenttheanthemends,wearetakenintocustody.I
don’tmeanwe’rehandcuffedoranything,butagroupof
PeacekeepersmarchesusthroughthefrontdooroftheJustice
Building.Maybetributeshavetriedtoescapeinthepast.I’ve
neverseenthathappenthough.
Onceinside,I’mconductedtoaroomandleftalone.It’sthe
richestplaceI’veeverbeenin,withthick,deepcarpetsanda
velvetcouchandchairs.Iknowvelvetbecausemymotherhasa
dresswithacollarmadeofthestuff.WhenIsitonthecouch,I
can’thelprunningmyfingersoverthefabricrepeatedly.Ithelps
tocalmmeasItrytoprepareforthenexthour.Thetimeallotted
forthetributestosaygood-byetotheirlovedones.Icannot
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affordtogetupset,toleavethisroomwithpuffyeyesandared
nose.Cryingisnotanoption.Therewillbemorecamerasatthe
trainstation.
Mysisterandmymothercomefirst.IreachouttoPrimand
sheclimbsonmylap,herarmsaroundmyneck,headonmy
shoulder,justlikeshedidwhenshewasatoddler.Mymother
sitsbesidemeandwrapsherarmsaroundus.Forafewminutes,
wesaynothing.ThenIstarttellingthemallthethingstheymust
remembertodo,nowthatIwillnotbetheretodothemforthem.
Primisnottotakeanytesserae.Theycangetby,ifthey’re
careful,onsellingPrim’sgoatmilkandcheeseandthesmall
apothecarybusinessmymothernowrunsforthepeopleinthe
Seam.Galewillgethertheherbsshedoesn’tgrowherself,but
shemustbeverycarefultodescribethembecausehe’snotas
familiarwiththemasIam.He’llalsobringthemgame—he
andImadeapactaboutthisayearorsoago—andwill
probablynotaskforcompensation,buttheyshouldthankhim
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withsomekindoftrade,likemilkormedicine.
Idon’tbothersuggestingPrimlearntohunt.Itriedtoteach
heracoupleoftimesanditwasdisastrous.Thewoodsterrified
her,andwheneverIshotsomething,she’dgettearyandtalk
abouthowwemightbeabletohealitifwegotithomesoon
enough.Butshemakesoutwellwithhergoat,soIconcentrate
onthat.
WhenIamdonewithinstructionsaboutfuel,andtrading,
andstayinginschool,Iturntomymotherandgripherarm,
hard.“Listentome.Areyoulisteningtome?”Shenods,alarmed
bymyintensity.Shemustknowwhat’scoming.“Youcan’t
leaveagain,”Isay.
Mymother’seyesfindthefloor.“Iknow.Iwon’t.Icouldn’t
helpwhat—”
“Well,youhavetohelpitthistime.Youcan’tclockoutand
leavePrimonherown.There’snomenowtokeepyouboth
alive.Itdoesn’tmatterwhathappens.Whateveryouseeonthe
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screen.Youhavetopromisemeyou’llfightthroughit!”My
voicehasrisentoashout.Initisalltheanger,allthefearIfelt
atherabandonment.
Shepullsherarmfrommygrasp,movedtoangerherself
now.“Iwasill.IcouldhavetreatedmyselfifI’dhadthe
medicineIhavenow.”
Thatpartaboutherbeingillmightbetrue.I’veseenher
bringbackpeoplesufferingfromimmobilizingsadnesssince.
Perhapsitisasickness,butit’sonewecan’tafford.
“Thentakeit.Andtakecareofher!”Isay.
“I’llbeallright,Katniss,”saysPrim,claspingmyfaceinher
hands.“Butyouhavetotakecare,too.You’resofastandbrave.
Maybeyoucanwin.”
Ican’twin.Primmustknowthatinherheart.The
competitionwillbefarbeyondmyabilities.Kidsfromwealthier
districts,wherewinningisahugehonor,who’vebeentrained
theirwholelivesforthis.Boyswhoaretwotothreetimesmy
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size.Girlswhoknowtwentydifferentwaystokillyouwitha
knife.Oh,there’llbepeoplelikeme,too.Peopletoweedout
beforetherealfunbegins.
“Maybe,”Isay,becauseIcanhardlytellmymothertocarry
onifI’vealreadygivenupmyself.Besides,itisn’tinmynature
togodownwithoutafight,evenwhenthingsseem
insurmountable.“Thenwe’dberichasHaymitch.”
“Idon’tcareifwe’rerich.Ijustwantyoutocomehome.
Youwilltry,won’tyou?Really,reallytry?”asksPrim.
“Really,reallytry.Iswearit,”Isay.AndIknow,becauseof
Prim,I’llhaveto.
AndthenthePeacekeeperisatthedoor,signalingourtimeis
up,andwe’reallhuggingoneanothersohardithurtsandallI’m
sayingis“Iloveyou.Iloveyouboth.”Andthey’resayingit
backandthenthePeacekeeperordersthemoutandthedoor
closes.Iburymyheadinoneofthevelvetpillowsasifthiscan
blockthewholethingout.
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Someoneelseenterstheroom,andwhenIlookup,I’m
surprisedtoseeit’sthebaker,PeetaMellark’sfather.Ican’t
believehe’scometovisitme.Afterall,I’llbetryingtokillhis
sonsoon.Butwedoknoweachotherabit,andheknowsPrim
evenbetter.WhenshesellshergoatcheesesattheHob,sheputs
twoofthemasideforhimandhegivesheragenerousamountof
breadinreturn.Wealwayswaittotradewithhimwhenhiswitch
ofawifeisn’taroundbecausehe’ssomuchnicer.Ifeelcertain
hewouldneverhavehithissonthewayshedidovertheburned
bread.Butwhyhashecometoseeme?
Thebakersitsawkwardlyontheedgeofoneoftheplush
chairs.He’sabig,broad-shoulderedmanwithburnscarsfrom
yearsattheovens.Hemusthavejustsaidgood-byetohisson.
Hepullsawhitepaperpackagefromhisjacketpocketand
holdsitouttome.Iopenitandfindcookies.Thesearealuxury
wecanneverafford.
“Thankyou,”Isay.Thebaker’snotaverytalkativemanin
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thebestoftimes,andtodayhehasnowordsatall.“Ihadsome
ofyourbreadthismorning.MyfriendGalegaveyouasquirrel
forit.”Henods,asifrememberingthesquirrel.“Notyourbest
trade,”Isay.Heshrugsasifitcouldn’tpossiblymatter.
ThenIcan’tthinkofanythingelse,sowesitinsilenceuntil
aPeacemakersummonshim.Herisesandcoughstoclearhis
throat.“I’llkeepaneyeonthelittlegirl.Makesureshe’s
eating.”
Ifeelsomeofthepressureinmychestlightenathiswords.
Peopledealwithme,buttheyaregenuinelyfondofPrim.Maybe
therewillbeenoughfondnesstokeepheralive.
Mynextguestisalsounexpected.Madgewalksstraightto
me.Sheisnotweepyorevasive,insteadthere’sanurgency
abouthertonethatsurprisesme.“Theyletyouwearonething
fromyourdistrictinthearena.Onethingtoremindyouofhome.
Willyouwearthis?”Sheholdsoutthecirculargoldpinthatwas
onherdressearlier.Ihadn’tpaidmuchattentiontoitbefore,but
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nowIseeit’sasmallbirdinflight.
“Yourpin?”Isay.Wearingatokenfrommydistrictisabout
thelastthingonmymind.
“Here,I’llputitonyourdress,allright?”Madgedoesn’t
waitforananswer,shejustleansinandfixesthebirdtomy
dress.“Promiseyou’llwearitintothearena,Katniss?”sheasks.
“Promise?”
“Yes,”Isay.Cookies.Apin.I’mgettingallkindsofgifts
today.Madgegivesmeonemore.Akissonthecheek.Then
she’sgoneandI’mleftthinkingthatmaybeMadgereallyhas
beenmyfriendallalong.
Finally,Galeishereandmaybethereisnothingromantic
betweenus,butwhenheopenshisarmsIdon’thesitatetogo
intothem.Hisbodyisfamiliartome—thewayitmoves,the
smellofwoodsmoke,eventhesoundofhisheartbeatingIknow
fromquietmomentsonahunt—butthisisthefirsttimeIreally
feelit,leanandhard-muscledagainstmyown.
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“Listen,”hesays.“Gettingaknifeshouldbeprettyeasy,but
you’vegottogetyourhandsonabow.That’syourbestchance.”
“Theydon’talwayshavebows,”Isay,thinkingoftheyear
therewereonlyhorriblespikedmacesthatthetributeshadto
bludgeononeanothertodeathwith.
“Thenmakeone,”saysGale.“Evenaweakbowisbetter
thannobowatall.”
Ihavetriedcopyingmyfather’sbowswithpoorresults.It’s
notthateasy.Evenhehadtoscraphisownworksometimes.
“Idon’tevenknowifthere’llbewood,”Isay.Anotheryear,
theytossedeverybodyintoalandscapeofnothingbutboulders
andsandandscruffybushes.Iparticularlyhatedthatyear.Many
contestantswerebittenbyvenomoussnakesorwentinsanefrom
thirst.
“There’salmostalwayssomewood,”Galesays.“Sincethat
yearhalfofthemdiedofcold.Notmuchentertainmentinthat.”
It’strue.WespentoneHungerGameswatchingtheplayers
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freezetodeathatnight.Youcouldhardlyseethembecausethey
werejusthuddledinballsandhadnowoodforfiresortorchesor
anything.ItwasconsideredveryanticlimacticintheCapitol,all
thosequiet,bloodlessdeaths.Sincethen,there’susuallybeen
woodtomakefires.
“Yes,there’susuallysome,”Isay.
“Katniss,it’sjusthunting.You’rethebesthunterIknow,”
saysGale.
“It’snotjusthunting.They’rearmed.Theythink,”Isay.
“Sodoyou.Andyou’vehadmorepractice.Realpractice,”
hesays.“Youknowhowtokill.”
“Notpeople,”Isay.
“Howdifferentcanitbe,really?”saysGalegrimly.
TheawfulthingisthatifIcanforgetthey’repeople,itwill
benodifferentatall.
ThePeacekeepersarebacktoosoonandGaleasksformore
time,butthey’retakinghimawayandIstarttopanic.“Don’tlet
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themstarve!”Icryout,clingingtohishand.
“Iwon’t!YouknowIwon’t!Katniss,rememberI—”he
says,andtheyyankusapartandslamthedoorandI’llnever
knowwhatitwashewantedmetoremember.
It’sashortridefromtheJusticeBuildingtothetrainstation.
I’veneverbeeninacarbefore.Rarelyevenriddeninwagons.In
theSeam,wetravelonfoot.
I’vebeenrightnottocry.Thestationisswarmingwith
reporterswiththeirinsectlikecamerastraineddirectlyonmy
face.ButI’vehadalotofpracticeatwipingmyfacecleanof
emotionsandIdothisnow.Icatchaglimpseofmyselfonthe
televisionscreenonthewallthat’sairingmyarrivalliveandfeel
gratifiedthatIappearalmostbored.
PeetaMellark,ontheotherhand,hasobviouslybeencrying
andinterestinglyenoughdoesnotseemtobetryingtocoverit
up.Iimmediatelywonderifthiswillbehisstrategyinthe
Games.Toappearweakandfrightened,toreassuretheother
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tributesthatheisnocompetitionatall,andthencomeout
fighting.Thisworkedverywellforagirl,JohannaMason,from
District7afewyearsback.Sheseemedlikesuchasniveling,
cowardlyfoolthatnoonebotheredaboutheruntiltherewere
onlyahandfulofcontestantsleft.Itturnedoutshecouldkill
viciously.Prettyclever,thewaysheplayedit.Butthisseemsan
oddstrategyforPeetaMellarkbecausehe’sabaker’sson.All
thoseyearsofhavingenoughtoeatandhaulingbreadtrays
aroundhavemadehimbroad-shoulderedandstrong.Itwilltake
anawfullotofweepingtoconvinceanyonetooverlookhim.
Wehavetostandforafewminutesinthedoorwayofthe
trainwhilethecamerasgobbleupourimages,thenwe’re
allowedinsideandthedoorsclosemercifullybehindus.The
trainbeginstomoveatonce.
Thespeedinitiallytakesmybreathaway.Ofcourse,I’ve
neverbeenonatrain,astravelbetweenthedistrictsisforbidden
exceptforofficiallysanctionedduties.Forus,that’smainly
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transportingcoal.Butthisisnoordinarycoaltrain.It’soneof
thehigh-speedCapitolmodelsthataverage250milesperhour.
OurjourneytotheCapitolwilltakelessthanaday.
Inschool,theytellustheCapitolwasbuiltinaplaceonce
calledtheRockies.District12wasinaregionknownas
Appalachia.Evenhundredsofyearsago,theyminedcoalhere.
Whichiswhyourminershavetodigsodeep.
Somehowitallcomesbacktocoalatschool.Besidesbasic
readingandmathmostofourinstructioniscoal-related.Except
fortheweeklylectureonthehistoryofPanem.It’smostlyalot
ofblatheraboutwhatweowetheCapitol.Iknowtheremustbe
morethanthey’retellingus,anactualaccountofwhathappened
duringtherebellion.ButIdon’tspendmuchtimethinkingabout
it.Whateverthetruthis,Idon’tseehowitwillhelpmegetfood
onthetable.
ThetributetrainisfancierthaneventheroomintheJustice
Building.Weareeachgivenourownchambersthathavea
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bedroom,adressingarea,andaprivatebathroomwithhotand
coldrunningwater.Wedon’thavehotwaterathome,unlesswe
boilit.
Therearedrawersfilledwithfineclothes,andEffieTrinket
tellsmetodoanythingIwant,wearanythingIwant,everything
isatmydisposal.Justbereadyforsupperinanhour.Ipeeloff
mymother’sbluedressandtakeahotshower.I’veneverhada
showerbefore.It’slikebeinginasummerrain,onlywarmer.I
dressinadarkgreenshirtandpants.
Atthelastminute,IrememberMadge’slittlegoldpin.For
thefirsttime,Igetagoodlookatit.It’sasifsomeonefashioned
asmallgoldenbirdandthenattachedaringaroundit.Thebirdis
connectedtotheringonlybyitswingtips.Isuddenlyrecognize
it.Amockingjay.
They’refunnybirdsandsomethingofaslapinthefaceto
theCapitol.Duringtherebellion,theCapitolbredaseriesof
geneticallyalteredanimalsasweapons.Thecommontermfor
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themwasmuttations,orsometimesmuttsforshort.Onewasa
specialbirdcalledajabberjaythathadtheabilitytomemorize
andrepeatwholehumanconversations.Theywerehomingbirds,
exclusivelymale,thatwerereleasedintoregionswherethe
Capitol’senemieswereknowntobehiding.Afterthebirds
gatheredwords,they’dflybacktocenterstoberecorded.Ittook
peopleawhiletorealizewhatwasgoingoninthedistricts,how
privateconversationswerebeingtransmitted.Then,ofcourse,
therebelsfedtheCapitolendlesslies,andthejokewasonit.So
thecenterswereshutdownandthebirdswereabandonedtodie
offinthewild.
Onlytheydidn’tdieoff.Instead,thejabberjaysmatedwith
femalemockingbirds,creatingawholenewspeciesthatcould
replicatebothbirdwhistlesandhumanmelodies.Theyhadlost
theabilitytoenunciatewordsbutcouldstillmimicarangeof
humanvocalsounds,fromachild’shigh-pitchedwarbletoa
man’sdeeptones.Andtheycouldre-createsongs.Notjustafew
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notes,butwholesongswithmultipleverses,ifyouhadthe
patiencetosingthemandiftheylikedyourvoice.
Myfatherwasparticularlyfondofmockingjays.Whenwe
wenthunting,hewouldwhistleorsingcomplicatedsongsto
themand,afterapolitepause,they’dalwayssingback.Not
everyoneistreatedwithsuchrespect.Butwhenevermyfather
sang,allthebirdsintheareawouldfallsilentandlisten.His
voicewasthatbeautiful,highandclearandsofilledwithlifeit
madeyouwanttolaughandcryatthesametime.Icouldnever
bringmyselftocontinuethepracticeafterhewasgone.Still,
there’ssomethingcomfortingaboutthelittlebird.It’slike
havingapieceofmyfatherwithme,protectingme.Ifastenthe
pinontomyshirt,andwiththedarkgreenfabricasa
background,Icanalmostimaginethemockingjayflyingthrough
thetrees.
EffieTrinketcomestocollectmeforsupper.Ifollowher
throughthenarrow,rockingcorridorintoadiningroomwith
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polishedpaneledwalls.There’satablewhereallthedishesare
highlybreakable.PeetaMellarksitswaitingforus,thechairnext
tohimempty.
“Where’sHaymitch?”asksEffieTrinketbrightly.
“LasttimeIsawhim,hesaidhewasgoingtotakeanap,”
saysPeeta.
“Well,it’sbeenanexhaustingday,”saysEffieTrinket.I
thinkshe’srelievedbyHaymitch’sabsence,andwhocanblame
her?
Thesuppercomesincourses.Athickcarrotsoup,green
salad,lambchopsandmashedpotatoes,cheeseandfruit,a
chocolatecake.Throughoutthemeal,EffieTrinketkeeps
remindingustosavespacebecausethere’smoretocome.But
I’mstuffingmyselfbecauseI’veneverhadfoodlikethis,so
goodandsomuch,andbecauseprobablythebestthingIcando
betweennowandtheGamesisputonafewpounds.
“Atleast,youtwohavedecentmanners,”saysEffieaswe’re
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finishingthemaincourse.“Thepairlastyearateeverythingwith
theirhandslikeacoupleofsavages.Itcompletelyupsetmy
digestion.”
ThepairlastyearweretwokidsfromtheSeamwho’dnever,
notonedayoftheirlives,hadenoughtoeat.Andwhentheydid
havefood,tablemannersweresurelythelastthingontheir
minds.Peeta’sabaker’sson.MymothertaughtPrimandmeto
eatproperly,soyes,Icanhandleaforkandknife.ButIhate
EffieTrinket’scommentsomuchImakeapointofeatingthe
restofmymealwithmyfingers.ThenIwipemyhandsonthe
tablecloth.Thismakesherpurseherlipstightlytogether.
Nowthatthemeal’sover,I’mfightingtokeepthefood
down.IcanseePeeta’slookingalittlegreen,too.Neitherofour
stomachsisusedtosuchrichfare.ButifIcanholddownGreasy
Sae’sconcoctionofmicemeat,pigentrails,andtreebark—a
winterspecialty—I’mdeterminedtohangontothis.
Wegotoanothercompartmenttowatchtherecapofthe
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reapingsacrossPanem.Theytrytostaggerthemthroughoutthe
daysoapersoncouldconceivablywatchthewholethinglive,
butonlypeopleintheCapitolcouldreallydothat,sincenoneof
themhavetoattendreapingsthemselves.
Onebyone,weseetheotherreapings,thenamescalled,the
volunteerssteppingforwardor,moreoften,not.Weexaminethe
facesofthekidswhowillbeourcompetition.Afewstandoutin
mymind.Amonstrousboywholungesforwardtovolunteer
fromDistrict2.Afox-facedgirlwithsleekredhairfromDistrict
5.AboywithacrippledfootfromDistrict10.Andmost
hauntingly,atwelve-year-oldgirlfromDistrict11.Shehasdark
brownskinandeyes,butotherthanthat,she’sverylikePrimin
sizeanddemeanor.Onlywhenshemountsthestageandtheyask
forvolunteers,allyoucanhearisthewindwhistlingthroughthe
decrepitbuildingsaroundher.There’snoonewillingtotakeher
place.
Lastofall,theyshowDistrict12.Primbeingcalled,me
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runningforwardtovolunteer.Youcan’tmissthedesperationin
myvoiceasIshovePrimbehindme,asifI’mafraidnoonewill
hearandthey’lltakePrimaway.But,ofcourse,theydohear.I
seeGalepullingheroffmeandwatchmyselfmountthestage.
Thecommentatorsarenotsurewhattosayaboutthecrowd’s
refusaltoapplaud.Thesilentsalute.OnesaysthatDistrict12
hasalwaysbeenabitbackwardbutthatlocalcustomscanbe
charming.Asifoncue,Haymitchfallsoffthestage,andthey
groancomically.Peeta’snameisdrawn,andhequietlytakeshis
place.Weshakehands.Theycuttotheanthemagain,andthe
programends.
EffieTrinketisdisgruntledaboutthestateherwigwasin.
“Yourmentorhasalottolearnaboutpresentation.Alotabout
televisedbehavior.”
Peetaunexpectedlylaughs.“Hewasdrunk,”saysPeeta.
“He’sdrunkeveryyear.”
“Everyday,”Iadd.Ican’thelpsmirkingalittle.Effie
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TrinketmakesitsoundlikeHaymitchjusthassomewhatrough
mannersthatcouldbecorrectedwithafewtipsfromher.
“Yes,”hissesEffieTrinket.“Howoddyoutwofindit
amusing.Youknowyourmentorisyourlifelinetotheworldin
theseGames.Theonewhoadvisesyou,linesupyoursponsors,
anddictatesthepresentationofanygifts.Haymitchcanwellbe
thedifferencebetweenyourlifeandyourdeath!”
Justthen,Haymitchstaggersintothecompartment.“Imiss
supper?”hesaysinaslurredvoice.Thenhevomitsalloverthe
expensivecarpetandfallsinthemess.
“Solaughaway!”saysEffieTrinket.Shehopsinherpointy
shoesaroundthepoolofvomitandfleestheroom.
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Forafewmoments,PeetaandItakeinthesceneofour
mentortryingtoriseoutoftheslipperyvilestufffromhis
stomach.Thereekofvomitandrawspiritsalmostbringsmy
dinnerup.Weexchangeaglance.ObviouslyHaymitchisn’t
much,butEffieTrinketisrightaboutonething,oncewe’rein
thearenahe’sallwe’vegot.Asifbysomeunspokenagreement,
PeetaandIeachtakeoneofHaymitch’sarmsandhelphimto
hisfeet.
“Itripped?”Haymitchasks.“Smellsbad.”Hewipeshishand
onhisnose,smearinghisfacewithvomit.
“Let’sgetyoubacktoyourroom,”saysPeeta.“Cleanyouup
abit.”
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Wehalf-leadhalf-carryHaymitchbacktohiscompartment.
Sincewecan’texactlysethimdownontheembroidered
bedspread,wehaulhimintothebathtubandturntheshoweron
him.Hehardlynotices.
“It’sokay,”Peetasaystome.“I’lltakeitfromhere.”
Ican’thelpfeelingalittlegratefulsincethelastthingIwant
todoisstripdownHaymitch,washthevomitoutofhischest
hair,andtuckhimintobed.PossiblyPeetaistryingtomakea
goodimpressiononhim,tobehisfavoriteoncetheGames
begin.Butjudgingbythestatehe’sin,Haymitchwillhaveno
memoryofthistomorrow.
“Allright,”Isay.“IcansendoneoftheCapitolpeopleto
helpyou.”There’sanynumberonthetrain.Cookingforus.
Waitingonus.Guardingus.Takingcareofusistheirjob.
“No.Idon’twantthem,”saysPeeta.
Inodandheadtomyownroom.IunderstandhowPeeta
feels.Ican’tstandthesightoftheCapitolpeoplemyself.But
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makingthemdealwithHaymitchmightbeasmallformof
revenge.SoI’mponderingthereasonwhyheinsistsontaking
careofHaymitchandallofasuddenIthink,It’sbecausehe’s
beingkind.Justashewaskindtogivemethebread.
Theideapullsmeupshort.AkindPeetaMellarkisfarmore
dangeroustomethananunkindone.Kindpeoplehaveawayof
workingtheirwayinsidemeandrootingthere.AndIcan’tlet
Peetadothis.Notwherewe’regoing.SoIdecide,fromthis
momenton,tohaveaslittleaspossibletodowiththebaker’s
son.
WhenIgetbacktomyroom,thetrainispausingata
platformtorefuel.Iquicklyopenthewindow,tossthecookies
Peeta’sfathergavemeoutofthetrain,andslamtheglassshut.
Nomore.Nomoreofeitherofthem.
Unfortunately,thepacketofcookieshitsthegroundand
burstsopeninapatchofdandelionsbythetrack.Ionlyseethe
imageforamoment,becausethetrainisoffagain,butit’s
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enough.Enoughtoremindmeofthatotherdandelioninthe
schoolyardyearsago...
IhadjustturnedawayfromPeetaMellark’sbruisedface
whenIsawthedandelionandIknewhopewasn’tlost.Iplucked
itcarefullyandhurriedhome.IgrabbedabucketandPrim’s
handandheadedtotheMeadowandyes,itwasdottedwiththe
golden-headedweeds.Afterwe’dharvestedthose,wescrounged
alonginsidethefenceforprobablyamileuntilwe’dfilledthe
bucketwiththedandeliongreens,stems,andflowers.Thatnight,
wegorgedourselvesondandelionsaladandtherestofthe
bakerybread.
“Whatelse?”Primaskedme.“Whatotherfoodcanwe
find?”
“Allkindsofthings,”Ipromisedher.“Ijusthaveto
rememberthem.”
Mymotherhadabookshe’dbroughtwithherfromthe
apothecaryshop.Thepagesweremadeofoldparchmentand
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coveredininkdrawingsofplants.Neathandwrittenblockstold
theirnames,wheretogatherthem,whentheycameinbloom,
theirmedicaluses.Butmyfatheraddedotherentriestothebook.
Plantsforeating,nothealing.Dandelions,pokeweed,wild
onions,pines.PrimandIspenttherestofthenightporingover
thosepages.
Thenextday,wewereoffschool.ForawhileIhungaround
theedgesoftheMeadow,butfinallyIworkedupthecourageto
gounderthefence.ItwasthefirsttimeI’dbeentherealone,
withoutmyfather’sweaponstoprotectme.ButIretrievedthe
smallbowandarrowshe’dmademefromahollowtree.I
probablydidn’tgomorethantwentyyardsintothewoodsthat
day.Mostofthetime,Iperchedupinthebranchesofanoldoak,
hopingforgametocomeby.Afterseveralhours,Ihadthegood
lucktokillarabbit.I’dshotafewrabbitsbefore,withmy
father’sguidance.ButthisI’ddoneonmyown.
Wehadn’thadmeatinmonths.Thesightoftherabbit
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seemedtostirsomethinginmymother.Sherousedherself,
skinnedthecarcass,andmadeastewwiththemeatandsome
moregreensPrimhadgathered.Thensheactedconfusedand
wentbacktobed,butwhenthestewwasdone,wemadehereata
bowl.
Thewoodsbecameoursavior,andeachdayIwentabit
fartherintoitsarms.Itwasslow-goingatfirst,butIwas
determinedtofeedus.Istoleeggsfromnests,caughtfishin
nets,sometimesmanagedtoshootasquirrelorrabbitforstew,
andgatheredthevariousplantsthatsprungupbeneathmyfeet.
Plantsaretricky.Manyareedible,butonefalsemouthfuland
you’redead.Icheckedanddouble-checkedtheplantsIharvested
withmyfather’spictures.Ikeptusalive.
Anysignofdanger,adistanthowl,theinexplicablebreakof
abranch,sentmeflyingbacktothefenceatfirst.ThenIbegan
toriskclimbingtreestoescapethewilddogsthatquicklygot
boredandmovedon.Bearsandcatsliveddeeperin,perhaps
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dislikingthesootyreekofourdistrict.
OnMay8th,IwenttotheJusticeBuilding,signedupformy
tesserae,andpulledhomemyfirstbatchofgrainandoilin
Prim’stoywagon.Ontheeighthofeverymonth,Iwasentitled
todothesame.Icouldn’tstophuntingandgathering,ofcourse.
Thegrainwasnotenoughtoliveon,andtherewereotherthings
tobuy,soapandmilkandthread.Whatwedidn’tabsolutely
havetoeat,IbegantotradeattheHob.Itwasfrighteningto
enterthatplacewithoutmyfatheratmyside,butpeoplehad
respectedhim,andtheyacceptedme.Gamewasgameafterall,
nomatterwho’dshotit.Ialsosoldatthebackdoorsofthe
wealthierclientsintown,tryingtorememberwhatmyfatherhad
toldmeandlearningafewnewtricksaswell.Thebutcherwould
buymyrabbitsbutnotsquirrels.Thebakerenjoyedsquirrelbut
wouldonlytradeforoneifhiswifewasn’taround.TheHead
Peacekeeperlovedwildturkey.Themayorhadapassionfor
strawberries.
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Inlatesummer,IwaswashingupinapondwhenInoticed
theplantsgrowingaroundme.Tallwithleaveslikearrowheads.
Blossomswiththreewhitepetals.Ikneltdowninthewater,my
fingersdiggingintothesoftmud,andIpulleduphandfulsofthe
roots.Small,bluishtubersthatdon’tlooklikemuchbutboiled
orbakedareasgoodasanypotato.“Katniss,”Isaidaloud.It’s
theplantIwasnamedfor.AndIheardmyfather’svoicejoking,
“Aslongasyoucanfindyourself,you’llneverstarve.”Ispent
hoursstirringupthepondbedwithmytoesandastick,
gatheringthetubersthatfloatedtothetop.Thatnight,wefeasted
onfishandkatnissrootsuntilwewereall,forthefirsttimein
months,full.
Slowly,mymotherreturnedtous.Shebegantocleanand
cookandpreservesomeofthefoodIbroughtinforwinter.
Peopletradedusorpaidmoneyforhermedicalremedies.One
day,Iheardhersinging.
Primwasthrilledtohaveherback,butIkeptwatching,
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waitingforhertodisappearonusagain.Ididn’ttrusther.And
somesmallgnarledplaceinsidemehatedherforherweakness,
forherneglect,forthemonthsshehadputusthrough.Prim
forgaveher,butIhadtakenastepbackfrommymother,putup
awalltoprotectmyselffromneedingher,andnothingwasever
thesamebetweenusagain.
NowIwasgoingtodiewithoutthateverbeingsetright.I
thoughtofhowIhadyelledathertodayintheJusticeBuilding.I
hadtoldherIlovedher,too,though.Somaybeitwouldall
balanceout.
ForawhileIstandstaringoutthetrainwindow,wishingI
couldopenitagain,butunsureofwhatwouldhappenatsuch
highspeed.Inthedistance,Iseethelightsofanotherdistrict.7?
10?Idon’tknow.Ithinkaboutthepeopleintheirhouses,
settlinginforbed.Iimaginemyhome,withitsshuttersdrawn
tight.Whataretheydoingnow,mymotherandPrim?Werethey
abletoeatsupper?Thefishstewandthestrawberries?Ordidit
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lieuntouchedontheirplates?Didtheywatchtherecapofthe
day’seventsonthebatteredoldTVthatsitsonthetableagainst
thewall?Surely,thereweremoretears.Ismymotherholding
up,beingstrongforPrim?Orhasshealreadystartedtoslip
away,leavingtheweightoftheworldonmysister’sfragile
shoulders?
Primwillundoubtedlysleepwithmymothertonight.The
thoughtofthatscruffyoldButtercuppostinghimselfonthebed
towatchoverPrimcomfortsme.Ifshecries,hewillnosehis
wayintoherarmsandcurlupthereuntilshecalmsdownand
fallsasleep.I’msogladIdidn’tdrownhim.
Imaginingmyhomemakesmeachewithloneliness.This
dayhasbeenendless.CouldGaleandIhavebeeneating
blackberriesonlythismorning?Itseemslikealifetimeago.
Likealongdreamthatdeterioratedintoanightmare.Maybe,ifI
gotosleep,IwillwakeupbackinDistrict12,whereIbelong.
Probablythedrawersholdanynumberofnightgowns,butI
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juststripoffmyshirtandpantsandclimbintobedinmy
underwear.Thesheetsaremadeofsoft,silkyfabric.Athick
fluffycomfortergivesimmediatewarmth.
IfI’mgoingtocry,nowisthetimetodoit.Bymorning,I’ll
beabletowashthedamagedonebythetearsfrommyface.But
notearscome.I’mtootiredortoonumbtocry.TheonlythingI
feelisadesiretobesomewhereelse.SoIletthetrainrockme
intooblivion.
Graylightisleakingthroughthecurtainswhentherapping
rousesme.IhearEffieTrinket’svoice,callingmetorise.“Up,
up,up!It’sgoingtobeabig,big,bigday!”Itryandimagine,for
amoment,whatitmustbelikeinsidethatwoman’shead.What
thoughtsfillherwakinghours?Whatdreamscometoherat
night?Ihavenoidea.
Iputthegreenoutfitbackonsinceit’snotreallydirty,just
slightlycrumpledfromspendingthenightonthefloor.My
fingerstracethecirclearoundthelittlegoldmockingjayandI
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thinkofthewoods,andofmyfather,andofmymotherandPrim
wakingup,havingtogetonwiththings.Isleptintheelaborate
braidedhairmymotherdidforthereapinganditdoesn’tlook
toobad,soIjustleaveitup.Itdoesn’tmatter.Wecan’tbefar
fromtheCapitolnow.Andoncewereachthecity,mystylistwill
dictatemylookfortheopeningceremoniestonightanyway.I
justhopeIgetonewhodoesn’tthinknudityisthelastwordin
fashion.
AsIenterthediningcar,EffieTrinketbrushesbymewitha
cupofblackcoffee.She’smutteringobscenitiesunderher
breath.Haymitch,hisfacepuffyandredfromthepreviousday’s
indulgences,ischuckling.Peetaholdsarollandlookssomewhat
embarrassed.
“Sitdown!Sitdown!”saysHaymitch,wavingmeover.The
momentIslideintomychairI’mservedanenormousplatterof
food.Eggs,ham,pilesoffriedpotatoes.Atureenoffruitsitsin
icetokeepitchilled.Thebasketofrollstheysetbeforeme
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wouldkeepmyfamilygoingforaweek.There’sanelegantglass
oforangejuice.Atleast,Ithinkit’sorangejuice.I’veonlyeven
tastedanorangeonce,atNewYear’swhenmyfatherboughtone
asaspecialtreat.Acupofcoffee.Mymotheradorescoffee,
whichwecouldalmostneverafford,butitonlytastesbitterand
thintome.ArichbrowncupofsomethingI’veneverseen.
“Theycallithotchocolate,”saysPeeta.“It’sgood.”
Itakeasipofthehot,sweet,creamyliquidandashudder
runsthroughme.Eventhoughtherestofthemealbeckons,I
ignoreituntilI’vedrainedmycup.ThenIstuffdownevery
mouthfulIcanhold,whichisasubstantialamount,beingcareful
tonotoverdoitonthericheststuff.Onetime,mymothertold
methatIalwayseatlikeI’llneverseefoodagain.AndIsaid,“I
won’tunlessIbringithome.”Thatshutherup.
Whenmystomachfeelslikeit’sabouttosplitopen,Ilean
backandtakeinmybreakfastcompanions.Peetaisstilleating,
breakingoffbitsofrollanddippingtheminhotchocolate.
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Haymitchhasn’tpaidmuchattentiontohisplatter,buthe’s
knockingbackaglassofredjuicethathekeepsthinningwitha
clearliquidfromabottle.Judgingbythefumes,it’ssomekind
ofspirit.Idon’tknowHaymitch,butI’veseenhimoftenenough
intheHob,tossinghandfulsofmoneyonthecounterofthe
womanwhosellswhiteliquor.He’llbeincoherentbythetime
wereachtheCapitol.
IrealizeIdetestHaymitch.NowondertheDistrict12
tributesneverstandachance.Itisn’tjustthatwe’vebeen
underfedandlacktraining.Someofourtributeshavestillbeen
strongenoughtomakeagoofit.Butwerarelygetsponsorsand
he’sabigpartofthereasonwhy.Therichpeoplewhoback
tributes—eitherbecausethey’rebettingonthemorsimplyfor
thebraggingrightsofpickingawinner—expectsomeone
classierthanHaymitchtodealwith.
“So,you’resupposedtogiveusadvice,”IsaytoHaymitch.
“Here’ssomeadvice.Stayalive,”saysHaymitch,andthen
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burstsoutlaughing.IexchangealookwithPeetabeforeI
rememberI’mhavingnothingmoretodowithhim.I’m
surprisedtoseethehardnessinhiseyes.Hegenerallyseemsso
mild.
“That’sveryfunny,”saysPeeta.Suddenlyhelashesoutat
theglassinHaymitch’shand.Itshattersonthefloor,sendingthe
bloodredliquidrunningtowardthebackofthetrain.“Onlynot
tous.”
Haymitchconsidersthisamoment,thenpunchesPeetainthe
jaw,knockinghimfromhischair.Whenheturnsbacktoreach
forthespirits,Idrivemyknifeintothetablebetweenhishand
andthebottle,barelymissinghisfingers.Ibracemyselfto
deflecthishit,butitdoesn’tcome.Insteadhesitsbackand
squintsatus.
“Well,what’sthis?”saysHaymitch.“DidIactuallygeta
pairoffightersthisyear?”
Peetarisesfromthefloorandscoopsupahandfulofice
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fromunderthefruittureen.Hestartstoraiseittotheredmark
onhisjaw.
“No,”saysHaymitch,stoppinghim.“Letthebruiseshow.
Theaudiencewillthinkyou’vemixeditupwithanothertribute
beforeyou’veevenmadeittothearena.”
“That’sagainsttherules,”saysPeeta.
“Onlyiftheycatchyou.Thatbruisewillsayyoufought,you
weren’tcaught,evenbetter,”saysHaymitch.Heturnstome.
“Canyouhitanythingwiththatknifebesidesatable?”
Thebowandarrowismyweapon.ButI’vespentafair
amountoftimethrowingknivesaswell.Sometimes,ifI’ve
woundedananimalwithanarrow,it’sbettertogetaknifeinto
it,too,beforeIapproachit.IrealizethatifIwantHaymitch’s
attention,thisismymomenttomakeanimpression.Iyankthe
knifeoutofthetable,getagripontheblade,andthenthrowit
intothewallacrosstheroom.Iwasactuallyjusthopingtogeta
goodsolidstick,butitlodgesintheseambetweentwopanels,
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makingmelookalotbetterthanIam.
“Standoverhere.Bothofyou,”saysHaymitch,noddingto
themiddleoftheroom.Weobeyandhecirclesus,proddingus
likeanimalsattimes,checkingourmuscles,examiningour
faces.“Well,you’renotentirelyhopeless.Seemfit.Andonce
thestylistsgetholdofyou,you’llbeattractiveenough.”
PeetaandIdon’tquestionthis.TheHungerGamesaren’ta
beautycontest,butthebest-lookingtributesalwaysseemtopull
moresponsors.
“Allright,I’llmakeadealwithyou.Youdon’tinterfere
withmydrinking,andI’llstaysoberenoughtohelpyou,”says
Haymitch.“ButyouhavetodoexactlywhatIsay.”
It’snotmuchofadealbutstillagiantstepforwardfromten
minutesagowhenwehadnoguideatall.
“Fine,”saysPeeta.
“Sohelpus,”Isay.“Whenwegettothearena,what’sthe
beststrategyattheCornucopiaforsomeone—”
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“Onethingatatime.Inafewminutes,we’llbepullinginto
thestation.You’llbeputinthehandsofyourstylists.You’renot
goingtolikewhattheydotoyou.Butnomatterwhatitis,don’t
resist,”saysHaymitch.
“But—”Ibegin.
“Nobuts.Don’tresist,”saysHaymitch.Hetakesthebottle
ofspiritsfromthetableandleavesthecar.Asthedoorswings
shutbehindhim,thecargoesdark.Therearestillafewlights
inside,butoutsideit’sasifnighthasfallenagain.Irealizewe
mustbeinthetunnelthatrunsupthroughthemountainsintothe
Capitol.Themountainsformanaturalbarrierbetweenthe
Capitolandtheeasterndistricts.Itisalmostimpossibletoenter
fromtheeastexceptthroughthetunnels.Thisgeographical
advantagewasamajorfactorinthedistrictslosingthewarthat
ledtomybeingatributetoday.Sincetherebelshadtoscalethe
mountains,theywereeasytargetsfortheCapitol’sairforces.
PeetaMellarkandIstandinsilenceasthetrainspeeds
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along.ThetunnelgoesonandonandIthinkofthetonsofrock
separatingmefromthesky,andmychesttightens.Ihatebeing
encasedinstonethisway.Itremindsmeoftheminesandmy
father,trapped,unabletoreachsunlight,buriedforeverinthe
darkness.
Thetrainfinallybeginstoslowandsuddenlybrightlight
floodsthecompartment.Wecan’thelpit.BothPeetaandIrunto
thewindowtoseewhatwe’veonlyseenontelevision,the
Capitol,therulingcityofPanem.Thecamerashaven’tliedabout
itsgrandeur.Ifanything,theyhavenotquitecapturedthe
magnificenceoftheglisteningbuildingsinarainbowofhues
thattowerintotheair,theshinycarsthatrolldownthewide
pavedstreets,theoddlydressedpeoplewithbizarrehairand
paintedfaceswhohavenevermissedameal.Allthecolorsseem
artificial,thepinkstoodeep,thegreenstoobright,theyellows
painfultotheeyes,liketheflatrounddisksofhardcandywecan
neveraffordtobuyatthetinysweetshopinDistrict12.
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Thepeoplebegintopointatuseagerlyastheyrecognizea
tributetrainrollingintothecity.Istepawayfromthewindow,
sickenedbytheirexcitement,knowingtheycan’twaittowatch
usdie.ButPeetaholdshisground,actuallywavingandsmiling
atthegawkingcrowd.Heonlystopswhenthetrainpullsintothe
station,blockingusfromtheirview.
Heseesmestaringathimandshrugs.“Whoknows?”he
says.“Oneofthemmayberich.”
Ihavemisjudgedhim.Ithinkofhisactionssincethereaping
began.Thefriendlysqueezeofmyhand.Hisfathershowingup
withthecookiesandpromisingtofeedPrim...didPeetaput
himuptothat?Histearsatthestation.Volunteeringtowash
Haymitchbutthenchallenginghimthismorningwhen
apparentlythenice-guyapproachhadfailed.Andnowthe
wavingatthewindow,alreadytryingtowinthecrowd.
Allofthepiecesarestillfittingtogether,butIsensehehasa
planforming.Hehasn’tacceptedhisdeath.Heisalready
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fightinghardtostayalive.WhichalsomeansthatkindPeeta
Mellark,theboywhogavemethebread,isfightinghardtokill
me.
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R-i-i-i-p!IgritmyteethasVenia,awomanwithaquahair
andgoldtattoosabovehereyebrows,yanksastripoffabricfrom
myleg,tearingoutthehairbeneathit.“Sorry!”shepipesinher
sillyCapitolaccent.“You’rejustsohairy!”
Whydothesepeoplespeakinsuchahighpitch?Whydo
theirjawsbarelyopenwhentheytalk?Whydotheendsoftheir
sentencesgoupasifthey’reaskingaquestion?Oddvowels,
clippedwords,andalwaysahissontheletters...nowonder
it’simpossiblenottomimicthem.
Veniamakeswhat’ssupposedtobeasympatheticface.
“Goodnews,though.Thisisthelastone.Ready?”Igetagripon
theedgesofthetableI’mseatedonandnod.Thefinalswatheof
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myleghairisuprootedinapainfuljerk.
I’vebeenintheRemakeCenterformorethanthreehours
andIstillhaven’tmetmystylist.Apparentlyhehasnointerest
inseeingmeuntilVeniaandtheothermembersofmyprepteam
haveaddressedsomeobviousproblems.Thishasincluded
scrubbingdownmybodywithagrittyfoamthathasremovednot
onlydirtbutatleastthreelayersofskin,turningmynailsinto
uniformshapes,andprimarily,riddingmybodyofhair.Mylegs,
arms,torso,underarms,andpartsofmyeyebrowshavebeen
strippedofthestuff,leavingmelikeapluckedbird,readyfor
roasting.Idon’tlikeit.Myskinfeelssoreandtinglingand
intenselyvulnerable.ButIhavekeptmysideofthebargainwith
Haymitch,andnoobjectionhascrossedmylips.
“You’redoingverywell,”sayssomeguynamedFlavius.He
giveshisorangecorkscrewlocksashakeandappliesafreshcoat
ofpurplelipsticktohismouth.“Ifthere’sonethingwecan’t
stand,it’sawhiner.Greaseherdown!”
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VeniaandOctavia,aplumpwomanwhoseentirebodyhas
beendyedapaleshadeofpeagreen,rubmedownwithalotion
thatfirststingsbutthensoothesmyrawskin.Thentheypullme
fromthetable,removingthethinrobeI’vebeenallowedtowear
offandon.Istandthere,completelynaked,asthethreecircle
me,wieldingtweezerstoremoveanylastbitsofhair.IknowI
shouldbeembarrassed,butthey’resounlikepeoplethatI’mno
moreself-consciousthanifatrioofoddlycoloredbirdswere
peckingaroundmyfeet.
Thethreestepbackandadmiretheirwork.“Excellent!You
almostlooklikeahumanbeingnow!”saysFlavius,andtheyall
laugh.
IforcemylipsupintoasmiletoshowhowgratefulIam.
“Thankyou,”Isaysweetly.“Wedon’thavemuchcausetolook
niceinDistrictTwelve.”
Thiswinsthemovercompletely.“Ofcourse,youdon’t,you
poordarling!”saysOctaviaclaspingherhandstogetherin
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di