Sunrise on the Reaping (The Hunger Games)

by Suzanne Collins

She says that’s just a teaspoon of trouble in a river of wrong.

Drusilla hauls off and slaps Maysilee, who, without missing a beat, slaps her right back.

And while Lenore Dove will forever be my true love, Louella is my one and only sweetheart.

A fragile collection of muscles and bones, a few quarts of blood, wrapped up in a paper-thin package of skin. That’s all I am. As I pass through the doors of this marble fortress, I have never felt more breakable.

“These cannot be credited to Magno. You.” She grabs Effie by the arm. “You’re coming with us, and I’m telling everyone you’re responsible.” “But — I don’t even have a backstage pass,” objects Effie. “That, at least, I can remedy.”

“Lenore Dove, I love you like all-fire. That’s for always.” “I love you like all-fire, too. You and no one else. Just like my geese, I mate for life. And then some. Forever.”

“Well, Maysilee’s sixteen years old with great cheekbones — two things Drusilla can never achieve.”

Tears come, and I let them fall, unchecked, while I empty the basin. It’s okay to cry around Mags.

Nobody’s here because everybody’s dead.

We hold each other so tight it’s like we’re one person. Which we are, for real.

Sometimes they just graze on the green, but on fine days, we’ve been known to wander on over to the Meadow. Lenore Dove likes it best there, and I’m content where she’s content. Like the geese, we really did mate for life.