Голодные игры

           TonightitsendsmeRue,stilldeckedinherflowers,perchedinahighseaoftrees,tryingtoteachmetotalktothemockingjays.Iseenosignofherwounds,noblood,justabright,laughinggirl.ShesingssongsI’veneverheardinaclear,melodicvoice.Onandon.Throughthenight.There’sadrowsyin-betweenperiodwhenIcanhearthelastfewstrainsofhermusicalthoughshe’slostintheleaves.WhenIfullyawaken,I’mmomentarilycomforted.Itrytoholdontothepeacefulfeelingofthedream,butitquicklyslipsaway,leavingmesadderandlonelierthanever.

           Heavinessinfusesmywholebody,asifthere’sliquidleadinmyveins.I’velostthewilltodothesimplesttasks,todoanythingbutliehere,staringunblinkinglythroughthecanopyofleaves.Forseveralhours,Iremainmotionless.Asusual,it’sthethoughtofPrim’sanxiousfaceasshewatchesmeonthescreensbackhomethatbreaksmefrommylethargy.

           Igivemyselfaseriesofsimplecommandstofollow,like"Nowyouhavetositup,Katniss.Nowyouhavetodrinkwater,Katniss."Iactontheorderswithslow,roboticmotions."Nowyouhavetosortthepacks,Katniss."

           Rue’spackholdsmysleepingbag,hernearlyemptywaterskin,ahandfulofnutsandroots,abitofrabbit,herextrasocks,andherslingshot.TheboyfromDistrict1hasseveralknives,twosparespearheads,aflashlight,asmallleatherpouch,afirst-aidkit,afullbottleofwater,andapackofdriedfruit.Apackofdriedfruit!Outofallhemighthavechosenfrom.