suzanna-kollinz-acliq-oyunlari-1-hisse-eng

forced to stop as my body convulses, trying desperately to rid
itself of the poisons I’ve been sucking in during the attack. I
wait for the next hiss, the next signal to bolt. It doesn’t come.
The force of the retching has squeezed tears out of my stinging
eyes. My clothes are drenched in sweat. Somehow,
through the smoke and vomit, I pick up the scent of singed
hair. My hand fumbles to my braid and finds a fireball has
seared off at least six inches of it. Strands of blackened hair
crumble in my fingers. I stare at them, fascinated by the transformation,
when the hissing registers.
My muscles react, only not fast enough this time. The fireball
crashes into the ground at my side, but not before it skids
across my right calf. Seeing my pants leg on fire sends me over
the edge. I twist and scuttle backward on my hands and feet,
shrieking, trying to remove myself from the horror. When I finally
regain enough sense, I roll the leg back and forth on the
ground, which stifles the worst of it. But then, without thinking,
I rip away the remaining fabric with my bare hands.
I sit on the ground, a few yards from the blaze set off by the
fireball. My calf is screaming, my hands covered in red welts.
I’m shaking too hard to move. If the Gamemakers want to
finish me off, now is the time.
I hear Cinna’s voice, carrying images of rich fabric and
sparkling gems. “Katniss, the girl who was on fire.” What a
good laugh the Gamemakers must be having over that one.
Perhaps, Cinna’s beautiful costumes have even brought on this
particular torture for me. I know he couldn’t have foreseen
this, must be hurting for me because, in fact, I believe he cares
175