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No way to control the outcome of the reaping or what follows it. So don’t feed the nightmares. Don’t let yourself panic. Don’t give the Capitol that. They’ve taken enough already.
have to agree and, though I’m not a drinker myself, I’m glad to get the bottle.
Well, half for the dead girl called Lenore in this old poem and half for a shade of gray, which I found out the day I met her.
She wasn’t one of Burdock’s Everdeen cousins, but I knew he had some distant ones on his ma’s side.
Clerk Carmine and her other uncle, Tam Amber, have raised her since her ma died in childbirth, seeing her pa’s always been something of a mystery. They’re not blood kin, her being a Baird, but the Covey look out for their own.
“And that’s part of our trouble. Thinking things are inevitable. Not believing change is possible.”
She isn’t crying, so Plutarch won’t get his
tearful good-bye. Not from her and not from me. They will not use our tears for their entertainment.
That’s when I see Lenore Dove. She’s up on a ridge, her red dress plastered to her body, one hand clutching the bag of gumdrops. As the train passes, she tilts her head back and wails her loss and rage into the wind. And even though it guts me, even though I smash my fists into the glass until they bruise, I’m grateful for her final gift. That she’s denied Plutarch the chance to broadcast our farewell. The moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to
In fifty years, we’ve only had one victor, and that was a long time ago. A girl who no one seems to know anything about. Back then, barely anyone in 12 had a television, so the Games were mostly hearsay. I’ve never seen her in the clips of the old shows, but then those early efforts are rarely featured, as they are said to be badly filmed and lacking in spectacle. My parents weren’t born yet, and even Mamaw couldn’t tell me much about the girl. I brought our victor up with Lenore Dove a few times, but she never wanted to discuss her.
You are on a high horse, mister. And someday someone will knock you off it straight into your grave. I
Panting, I watch them fade away. Then I turn back to what I am meant to witness. A small white skeleton, stripped clean to the bone. No flesh or clothing remains, only an ax at its right side, my knife at its left. My lips move, but no sound comes out. “Buddy?”
I allow myself a ball or two as well. Chocolate’s pricey stuff in the Seam. Definitely for birthdays or special occasions. This stuff’s top-of-the-line, creamy and sweet and rich. If it’s the last thing I ever eat, I’d be okay with that.
