第47章
swamp? a frigid wastel-
and? above all i am hoping for trees, which may afford me
some means of concealment and food and shelter, often there
are trees because barren landscapes are dull and the games
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resolve too quickly without them. but what will the climate be
like? what traps have the gamemakers hid den to liven up the
slower moments? and then there are my fellow tributes . . .
the more anxious i am to find sleep, the more it eludes me.
finally, i am too restless to even stay in bed. i pace the floor,
heart beating too fast, breathing too short. my room feels like
a prison cell. if i don’t get air soon, i’m going to start to throw
things again. i run down the hall to the door to the roof. it’s
not only unlocked but ajar. perhaps someone forgot to close it,
but it doesn’t matter. the energy field enclosing the roof pre-
vents any desperate form of escape. and i’m not looking to es-
cape, only to fill my lungs with air. i want to see the sky and
the moon on the last night that no one will be hunting me.
the roof is not lit at night, but as soon as my bare feel reach
its tiled surface i see his silhouette, black against the lights
that shine endlessly in the capitol. there’s quite a commotion
going on down in the streets, music and singing and car horns,
none of which i could hear through the thick glass window
panels in my room. i could slip away now, without him notic-
ing me; he wouldn’t hear me over the din, but the night air’s
so sweet, i can’t bear returning to that stuffy cage of a room.
and what difference does it make? whether we speak or not?
my feet move soundlessly across the tiles. i’m only yard be-
hind him when i say, “you should be getting some sleep.”
he starts but doesn’t turn. i can see him give his head a
slight shake. “i didn’t want to miss the party. it’s for us, after
all.”
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i come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail. the
wide streets are full of dancing people. i squint to make out
their tiny figures in more detail. “are they in costumes?”
“who could tell?” peeta answers. “with all the crazy clothes
they wear here. couldn’t sleep, either?”
“couldn’t turn my mind off,” i say.
“thinking about your family?” he asks.
“no,” i admit a bit guiltily. “all i can do is wonder about to-
morrow. which is pointless, of course.” in the light from be-
low, i can see his face now, the awkward way he holds his
bandaged hands. “i really am sorry about your hands.”
“it doesn’t matter, katniss,” he says. “i’ve never been a con-
tender in these games anyway.”
“that’s no way to be thinking,” i say.
“why not? it’s true. my best hope is to not disgrace myself
and . . .” he hesitates.
“and what?” i say.
“i don’t know how to say it exactly. only . . . i want to die as
myself. does that make any sense?” he asks. i shake my head.
how could he die as anyone but himself? “i don’t want them to
change me in there. turn me into some kind of monster that
i’m not.”
i bite my lip feeling inferior. while i’ve been ruminating on
the availability of trees, peeta has been struggling with how to
maintain his identity. his purity of self. “do you mean you
won’t kill anyone?” i ask.
“no, when the time comes, i’m sure i’ll kill just like every-
body else. i can’t go down without a fight. only i keep wishing
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i could think of a way to . . . to show the capitol they don’t own
me. that i’m more than just a piece in their games,” says pee-
ta.
“but you’re not,” i say. “none of us are. that’s how the
games work.”
“okay, but within that framework, there’s still you, there’s
still me,” he insists. “don’t you see?”