Голодные игры

           Irelyasmuchonmyearsasmyeyesasahunter,maybemoreattimes.ButIcan’tletmyfearshow.Absolutely,positively,IamliveoneveryscreeninPanem.

           Nobloodtrails,Itellmyself,andmanagetopullmyhoodupovermyhead,tiethecordundermychinwithuncooperativefingers.Thatshouldhelpsoakuptheblood.Ican’twalk,butcanIcrawl?Imoveforwardtentatively.Yes,ifIgoveryslowly,Icancrawl.Mostofthewoodswillofferinsufficientcover.MyonlyhopeistomakeitbacktoRue’scopseandconcealmyselfingreenery.Ican’tgetcaughtouthereonmyhandsandkneesintheopen.NotonlywillIfacedeath,it’ssuretobealongandpainfuloneatCato’shand.ThethoughtofPrimhavingtowatchthatkeepsmedoggedlyinchingmywaytowardthehideout.

           Anotherblastknocksmeflatonmyface.Astraymine,setoffbysomecollapsingcrate.Thishappenstwicemore.I’mremindedofthoselastfewkernelsthatburstwhenPrimandIpopcornoverthefireathome.

           TosayImakeitinthenickoftimeisanunderstatement.Ihaveliterallyjustdraggedmyselfintothetangleofhushesatthebaseofthetreeswhenthere’sCato,barrelingontotheplain,soonfollowedbyhiscompanions.Hisrageissoextremeitmightbecomical-sopeoplereallydotearouttheirhairandbeatthegroundwiththeirfists-ifIdidn’tknowthatitwasaimedatme,atwhatIhavedonetohim.Addtothatmyproximity,myinabilitytorunordefendmyself,andinfact,thewholethinghasmeterrified.