For a fraction of a second, I get to look at Peeta one last time. I have always been the tightest of Friends with him, and I know he's incredibly Brave and charming and all-around good, but honestly, what chance does someone from District 12 have against a Career Tribute living in the lap of luxury, with excellent professional training? They have trained to do this their whole life, and where they come from, volunteering to be a tribute is an immense honor.
I thrust that out of my mind and decide to maybe talk to his parents. In a way, Peeta's dad is my father figure. I was eleven when my father was annihilated in a horrifying mine explosion. Now that I think about it, I remember that Katniss Lost her father in the same accident. Like her, my mother was part of the merchant class. Growing up was a joy with Peeta's father; I don't know if I could say the same about his mother. When we were eleven, I recall seeing Peeta walk into school with a large, ugly bruise painted across his cheek and below his eye.
I manage to walk out of the Justice Building barely shedding a tear. Peeta's parents grasp my hands shakily and stare me straight in the eye. I nod and run off. Off to my house above the tailor kedai that my parents operate. Past the mannequins, past the mirrors I gazed into longingly as a kid. Into my room to whimper and fantasize about what happens now. What happens now that my best friend has been picked to represent our state in an event so scary and uncivilized we can't even speak of it. The Hunger Games. The name gives me Goosebumps sometimes. And the name says it all. Two dozen starving kids playing with weapons on live Televisyen like it's some sick form of entertainment. I assume it [i]is[i] considered entertainment in the Capitol because they don't ever have to attend a reaping atau grieve about how their child was murdered in te Games. I know people who are angered sejak the reaping, how the poor people get the worst of it when they take tesserae. Luckily, I won't ever have to put my name in extra to get tesserae.
Even after I talk to myself and go over all this information, one thing, one soalan is still bouncing around in myo head: [i]What happens now?[i]
I thrust that out of my mind and decide to maybe talk to his parents. In a way, Peeta's dad is my father figure. I was eleven when my father was annihilated in a horrifying mine explosion. Now that I think about it, I remember that Katniss Lost her father in the same accident. Like her, my mother was part of the merchant class. Growing up was a joy with Peeta's father; I don't know if I could say the same about his mother. When we were eleven, I recall seeing Peeta walk into school with a large, ugly bruise painted across his cheek and below his eye.
I manage to walk out of the Justice Building barely shedding a tear. Peeta's parents grasp my hands shakily and stare me straight in the eye. I nod and run off. Off to my house above the tailor kedai that my parents operate. Past the mannequins, past the mirrors I gazed into longingly as a kid. Into my room to whimper and fantasize about what happens now. What happens now that my best friend has been picked to represent our state in an event so scary and uncivilized we can't even speak of it. The Hunger Games. The name gives me Goosebumps sometimes. And the name says it all. Two dozen starving kids playing with weapons on live Televisyen like it's some sick form of entertainment. I assume it [i]is[i] considered entertainment in the Capitol because they don't ever have to attend a reaping atau grieve about how their child was murdered in te Games. I know people who are angered sejak the reaping, how the poor people get the worst of it when they take tesserae. Luckily, I won't ever have to put my name in extra to get tesserae.
Even after I talk to myself and go over all this information, one thing, one soalan is still bouncing around in myo head: [i]What happens now?[i]
