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

one loaf? It had been meant for Rue, surely. But instead of
pulling the gift when she died, they’d authorized Haymitch to
give it to me. As a thank-you? Or because, like me, they don’t
like to let debts go unpaid? For whatever reason, this is a first.
A district gift to a tribute who’s not your own.
I lift my face and step into the last falling rays of sunlight.
“My thanks to the people of District Eleven,” I say. I want them
to know I know where it came from. That the full value of
their gift has been recognized.
I climb dangerously high into a tree, not for safety but to
get as far away from today as I can. My sleeping bag is rolled
neatly in Rue’s pack. Tomorrow I’ll sort through the supplies.
Tomorrow I’ll make a new plan. But tonight, all I can do is
strap myself in and take tiny bites of the bread. It’s good. It
tastes of home.
Soon the seal’s in the sky, the anthem plays in my right ear.
I see the boy from District 1, Rue. That’s all for tonight. Six of
us left, I think. Only six. With the bread still locked in my
hands, I fall asleep at once.
Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will
give me a happy dream. A visit with my father in the woods.
An hour of sunlight and cake with Prim. Tonight it sends me
Rue, still decked in her flowers, perched in a high sea of trees,
trying to teach me to talk to the mockingjays. I see no sign of
her wounds, no blood, just a bright, laughing girl. She sings
songs I’ve never heard in a clear, melodic voice. On and on.
Through the night. There’s a drowsy in-between period when
I can hear the last few strains of her music although she’s lost
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