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

about me. But all in all, maybe showing up stark naked in that
chariot would have been safer for me.
The attack is now over. The Gamemakers don’t want me
dead. Not yet anyway. Everyone knows they could destroy us
all within seconds of the opening gong. The real sport of the
Hunger Games is watching the tributes kill one another. Every
so often, they do kill a tribute just to remind the players they
can. But mostly, they manipulate us into confronting one
another face-to-face. Which means, if I am no longer being
fired at, there is at least one other tribute close at hand.
I would drag myself into a tree and take cover now if I
could, but the smoke is still thick enough to kill me. I make
myself stand and begin to limp away from the wall of flames
that lights up the sky. It does not seem to be pursuing me any
longer, except with its stinking black clouds.
Another light, daylight, begins to softly emerge. Swirls of
smoke catch the sunbeams. My visibility is poor. I can see
maybe fifteen yards in any direction. A tribute could easily be
concealed from me here. I should draw my knife as a precaution,
but I doubt my ability to hold it for long. The pain in my
hands can in no way compete with that in my calf. I hate
burns, have always hated them, even a small one gotten from
pulling a pan of bread from the oven. It is the worst kind of
pain to me, but I have never experienced anything like this.
I’m so weary I don’t even notice I’m in the pool until I’m
ankle-deep. It’s spring-fed, bubbling up out of a crevice in
some rocks, and blissfully cool. I plunge my hands into the
shallow water and feel instant relief. Isn’t that what my moth-
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