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Then I realize . . . he was my first kill.
Along with other statistics they report to help people place
their bets, every tribute has a list of kills. I guess technically
I’d get credited for Glimmer and the girl from District 4, too,
for dumping that nest on them. But the boy from District 1
was the first person I knew would die because of my actions.
Numerous animals have lost their lives at my hands, but only
one human. I hear Gale saying, “How different can it be, really?”
Amazingly similar in the execution. A bow pulled, an arrow
shot. Entirely different in the aftermath. I killed a boy whose
name I don’t even know. Somewhere his family is weeping for
him. His friends call for my blood. Maybe he had a girlfriend
who really believed he would come back . . .
But then I think of Rue’s still body and I’m able to banish
the boy from my mind. At least, for now.
It’s been an uneventful day according to the sky. No deaths.
I wonder how long we’ll get until the next catastrophe drives
us back together. If it’s going to be tonight, I want to get some
sleep first. I cover my good ear to block out the strains of the
anthem, but then I hear the trumpets and sit straight up in anticipation.
For the most part, the only communication the tributes get
from outside the arena is the nightly death toll. But occasionally,
there will be trumpets followed by an announcement.
Usually, this will be a call to a feast. When food is scarce, the
Gamemakers will invite the players to a banquet, somewhere
known to all like the Cornucopia, as an inducement to gather
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