THE HUNGER GAMES (FULL)

PART I
“THE TRIBUTES”

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The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My
fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding
only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She
must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our
mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the
reaping.
I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enoughlight in
the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled
up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their
cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks
younger, still worn but not so beaten-down. Prim’s
face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the
primrose for which she was named. My mother was
very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
Sitting at Prim’s knees, guardingher, is the world’s
ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing,
eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him
Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat
matched the bright flower. I le hates me. Or at least
distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he
still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket
when Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly
swollenwith worms, crawling with fleas. The last
thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim
begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It
turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and
he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat.
Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the
entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.
Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest wewill ever
come to love.
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The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting
boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I
pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up
into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table,
under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats
and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese
wrapped inbasil leaves. Prim’s gift to me on reaping
day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip
outside.
Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is
usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the
morning shift at this hour. Men and women with
hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who
have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust
out of their broken nails, the linesof their sunken
faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty.
Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The
reaping isn’t until two. May as well sleep in. If you
can.
Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I only
have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field
called the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the
woods, in fact enclosing all of District 12, is a highchain-link fence topped with barbed-wire loops. In
theory, it’s supposed to be electrified twenty-four
hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live
in the woods —packs of wild dogs, lone cougars,
bears — that used to threaten our streets. But since
we’re lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in
the evenings, it’s usually safe to touch. Even so, I
always take a moment to listencarefully for the hum
that means the fence is live. Right now, it’s silent as a
stone. Concealed by a clump of bushes, I flatten out
on my belly and slide under a two-foot stretch that’s
been loose for years. There are several other weak
spots in the fence, but this one is so close to home I
almost always enter the woods here.
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The Hunger Games – Suzanne Collins

As soon as I’min the trees, I retrieve a bow and
sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Electrified or not,
the fence has been successful at keeping the flesheaters out of District 12. Inside the woods they roam
freely, and there are added concerns like venomous
snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow.
But there’s also food if you know how to find it. My
father knew and he taught me some before...