Голодные игры

           Thecoldwouldbetortureenough,buttherealnightmareislisteningtoCato,moaning,begging,andfinallyjustwhimperingasthemuttsworkawayathim.Afteraveryshorttime,Idon’tcarewhoheisorwhathe’sdone,allIwantisforhissufferingtoend.

           "Whydon’ttheyjustkillhim?"IaskPeeta.

           "Youknowwhy,"hesays,andpullsmeclosertohim.

           AndIdo.Noviewercouldturnawayfromtheshownow.FromtheGamemakers’pointofview,thisisthefinalwordinentertainment.

           Itgoesonandonandonandeventuallycompletelyconsumesmymind,blockingoutmemoriesandhopesoftomorrow,erasingeverythingbutthepresent,whichIbegintobelievewillneverchange.Therewillneverbeanythingbutcoldandfearandtheagonizedsoundsoftheboydyinginthehorn.

           Peetabeginstodozeoffnow,andeachtimehedoes,Ifindmyselfyellinghisnamelouderandlouderbecauseifhegoesanddiesonmenow,IknowI’llgocompletelyinsane.He’sfightingit,probablymoreformethanforhim,andit’shardbecauseunconsciousnesswouldbeitsownformofescape.Buttheadrenalinepumpingthroughmybodywouldneverallowmetofollowhim,soIcan’tlethimgo.Ijustcan’t.

           Theonlyindicationofthepassageoftimeliesintheheavens,thesubtleshiftofthemoon.SoPeetabeginspointingitouttome,insistingIacknowledgeitsprogressandsometimes,forjustamomentIfeelaflickerofhopebeforetheagonyofthenightengulfsmeagain.

           Finally,Ihearhimwhisperthatthesunisrising.