Barbarism? That's ironic coming from a woman helping to prepare us for slaughter. And what's she basing our success on? Our table manners?
But if you want to find peace, you must first be able to hope it is possible.
Peeta smiles and douses Haymitch's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wipes the blade clean on his shirt tail and slices the bread. Peeta keeps all of us in fresh baked goods. I hunt. He bakes. Haymitch drinks. We have our own ways to stay busy, to keep thought of our time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay.
Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.
Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings.
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim`s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the Reaping.
They're already taking my future! They can't have the things that mattered to me in the past!
I want to do something, right here, right now, to shame them, to make them accountable, to show the Capitol that whatever they do or force us to do there is a part of every tribute they can't own. That Rue was more than a piece in their Games. And so am I.
For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.
In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of survival. A plump person is envied because they aren't scraping by like the majority of us. But here is different. Wrinkles aren't desirable. A round belly isn't a sign of success.
We sit in silence awhile then I blurt out the thing that's on both our minds. "How are we going to kill these people, Peeta?
Frankly, I could use a little sugarcoating.
But I don't know what to him about the aftermath of killing a person. About how they never leave you.
the evil thing is inside, not out.
District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.
Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams.
Fine. I'll train. But I'm going to the stinking capitol if I have to kill a crew and fly there myself." Says Johanna. "Probably best not to bring that up in training," I say. "But it's nice to know I'll have a ride.
A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me. "I'm with the Mockingjay," he says.
They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love.
There's no district 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took away all of that, and I'm on the verge of losing Gale as well. The glue of mutual needs that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me.
Oh, that I do know...Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without.
A spark could be enough to set them ablaze.
it is a perfect weapon
My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
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