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

Where is my little ally? Did she make it back to the
rendezvous point? Is she worried about me? At least, the sky
has shown we’re both alive.
I run through the surviving tributes on my fingers. The boy
from 1, both from 2, Foxface, both from 11 and 12. Just eight
of us. The betting must be getting really hot in the Capitol.
They’ll be doing special features on each of us now. Probably
interviewing our friends and families. It’s been a long time
since a tribute from District 12 made it into the top eight. And
now there are two of us. Although from what Cato said, Peeta’s
on his way out. Not that Cato is the final word on anything.
Didn’t he just lose his entire stash of supplies?
Let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin, Cato, I think. Let
them begin for real.
A cold breeze has sprung up. I reach for my sleeping bag
before I remember I left it with Rue. I was supposed to pick up
another one, but what with the mines and all, I forgot. I begin
to shiver. Since roosting overnight in a tree isn’t sensible anyway,
I scoop out a hollow under the bushes and cover myself
with leaves and pine needles. I’m still freezing. I lay my sheet
of plastic over my upper body and position my backpack to
block the wind. It’s a little better. I begin to have more sympathy
for the girl from District 8 that lit the fire that first night.
But now it’s me who needs to grit my teeth and tough it out
until morning. More leaves, more pine needles. I pull my arms
inside my jacket and tuck my knees up to my chest. Somehow,
I drift off to sleep.
223