The Hunger Games

together. But there’s been enough gore today. Perhaps we’ll even get to sleep.
    I’m about to haul my packs into a tree to make camp when a silver parachute floats down and lands in front of me. A gift from a sponsor. But why now? I’ve been in fairly good shape with supplies. Maybe Haymitch’s noticed my despondency and is trying to cheer me up a bit. Or could it be something to help my ear?
    I open the parachute and find a small loaf of bread. It’s not the fine white Capitol stuff. It’s made of dark ration grain and shaped in a crescent. Sprinkled with seeds. I flashback to Peeta’s lesson on the various district breads in the Training Center. This bread came from District 11. I cautiously lift the still warm loaf. What must it have cost the people of District 11 who can’t even feed themselves? How many would’ve had to do without to scrape up a coin to put in the collection for this 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 in the leaves. When I fully awaken, I’m momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder and lonelier than ever.
    Heaviness infuses my whole body, as if there’s liquid lead in my veins. I’ve lost the will to do the simplest tasks, to do anything but lie here, staring unblinkingly through the canopy of leaves. For several hours, I remain motionless. As usual, it’s the thought of Prim’s anxious face as she watches me on the screens back home that breaks me from my lethargy.
    I give myself a series of simple commands to follow, like “Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you have to drink water, Katniss.” I act on the orders with slow, robotic motions. “Now you have to sort the packs, Katniss.”
    Rue’s pack holds my sleeping bag, her nearly empty water skin, a handful of nuts and roots, a bit of rabbit, her extra socks, and her slingshot. The boy from District 1 has several knives, two spare spearheads, a flashlight, a small leather pouch, a first-aid kit, a full bottle of water, and a pack of dried fruit. A pack of dried fruit! Out of all he might have chosen from. To me, this is a sign of extreme arrogance. Why bother to carry food when you have such a bounty back at camp? When you will kill your enemies so quickly you’ll be home before you’re hungry? I can only hope the other Careers traveled so lightly when it came to food and now find themselves with nothing.
    Speaking of which, my own supply is running low. I finish off the loaf from District 11 and the last of the rabbit. How quickly the food disappears. All I have left are Rue’s roots and nuts, the boy’s dried fruit, and one strip of beef. Now you have to hunt, Katniss, I tell myself.
    I obediently consolidate the supplies I want into my pack. After I climb down the tree, I conceal the boy’s knives and spearheads in a pile of rocks so that no