If I'm going to cry, now is the time. By morning, I'll be able to wash all the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else. So I let the train rock me into oblivion.
So Haymitch, what do you think of the games have one hundred percent more competitors than usual?” asks Caesar. Haymitch shrugs. “I don’t see that it makes that much difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.
Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.
To the everlasting credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered Prim, who no one could help loving. So instead of acknowledging applause, I stand there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says we do not agree. We do not condone. All of this is wrong.
Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion.
So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be your sunny personality.Ђќ 'They saw her shoot,Ђќ says Peeta with a smile. 'Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself.Ђќ 'You're that good?Ђќ Haymitch asks me.
Peeta rinses the pearl off in the water and hands it to me. 'For you.Ђќ I hold it out on my palm and examine its iridescent surface in the sunlight. Yes, I will keep it. For the few remaining hours of my life I will keep it close. This last gift from Peeta. The only one I can really accept. Perhaps it will give me strength in the final moments.
But it's Posy, Gale's five-year-old sister, who helps the most. She scoots along the bench to Octavia and touches her skin with a tentative finger. 'You're green. Are you sick?Ђќ 'It's a fashion thing, Posy. Like wearing lipstick,Ђќ I say. 'It's meant to be pretty,Ђќ whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes. Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, 'I think you'd be pretty in any color.
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