Голодные игры

           Somaybeitwouldallbalanceout.

           ForawhileIstandstaringoutthetrainwindow,wishingIcouldopenitagain,butunsureofwhatwouldhappenatsuchhighspeed.Inthedistance,Iseethelightsofanotherdistrict.7?10?Idon’tknow.Ithinkaboutthepeopleintheirhouses,settlinginforbed.Iimaginemyhome,withitsshuttersdrawntight.Whataretheydoingnow,mymotherandPrim?Weretheyabletoeatsupper?Thefishstewandthestrawberries?Ordiditlayuntouchedontheirplates?Didtheywatchtherecapoftheday’seventsonthebatteredoldTVthatsitsonthetableagainstthewall?Surely,thereweremoretears.Ismymotherholdingup,beingstrongforPrim?Orhasshealreadystartedtoslipaway,leavingtheweightoftheworldonmysister’sfragileshoulders?

           Primwillundoubtedlysleepwithmymothertonight.ThethoughtofthatscruffyoldButtercuppostinghimselfonthebedtowatchoverPrimcomfortsme.Ifshecries,hewillnosehiswayintoherarmsandcurlupthereuntilshecalmsdownandfallsasleep.I’msogladIdidn’tdrownhim.

           Imaginingmyhomemakesmeachewithloneliness.Thisdayhasbeenendless.CouldGaleandIhavebeeneatingblackberriesonlythismorning?Itseemslikealifetimeago.Likealongdreamthatdeterioratedintoanightmare.Maybe,ifIgotosleep,IwillwakeupbackinDistrict12,whereIbelong.

           Probablythedrawersholdanynumberofnightgowns,butIjuststripoffmyshirtandpantsandclimbintobedinmyunderwear.Thesheetsaremadeofsoft,silkyfabric.