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

“Yes, and I’m sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for
me to chuck at people. It’s not like being able to use a weapon.
You know it isn’t,” he shoots back.
“He can wrestle,” I tell Haymitch. “He came in second in our
school competition last year, only after his brother.”
“What use is that? How many times have you seen someone
wrestle someone to death?” says Peeta in disgust.
“There’s always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to
come up with a knife, and you’ll at least stand a chance. If I get
jumped, I’m dead!” I can hear my voice rising in anger.
“But you won’t! You’ll be living up in some tree eating raw
squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what
my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to
cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have
a winner. Then I realized, she didn’t mean me, she meant
you!” bursts out Peeta.
“Oh, she meant you,” I say with a wave of dismissal.
“She said, ‘She’s a survivor, that one.’ She is,” says Peeta.
That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about
me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta’s
eyes and know he isn’t lying.
Suddenly I’m behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of
the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I
sound eleven years old when I speak. “But only because
someone helped me.”
Peeta’s eyes flicker down to the roll in my hands, and I
know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs. “People
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