第79章

  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 flash back to pee-
  ta’s lesson on the various district breads in the training cen-
  ter. 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
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  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
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  in the leaves. when i fully awaken, i’m momentarily com-
  forted. i try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but
  it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder and lonelier than ev-
  er.
  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 any-
  thing 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 wa-
  ter, 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!