Hunger Games 1

Chapter 4 Hope (2)
I was terrified, I thought Mom had been imprisoned in a dark world of sorrow, and all I knew at the time was that I had lost not only Dad, but Mom too.I was 11 years old, Prim was only seven years old, and I took on the burdens of the family. I had no choice.I bought food from the market and made it as good as I could, and I tried my best to make myself and Prim look good, because if anyone knew that Mom couldn't take care of us anymore, someone in the district would take care of us. We took her away and sent her to a community welfare home.

I often see children from orphanages at school.Their pain and sorrow, the marks of angry palms on their faces, their hunched bodies in despair, all these are deeply imprinted in my mind.I would never allow this to happen to Prim.

Prim is so petite and cute, whenever I cry, she will cry for no reason; she always combs and braids my mother's hair before we go to school; she often cleans my father's hair. Hu Jing, because he hates the dust flying in the "crack zone".But in the orphanage, she would be trampled to death like a bug.So no matter how difficult the family is, I still keep the secret.

The money was running out and we were starving to death.There is no other way, I said to myself as long as I can last until May, as long as I am 12 years old by May [-]th, I can get food stamps, get precious grains and oils, and feed ourselves up.It's just that we're still a few weeks away from May [-]th, and we're sure to be starving to death by then.

Starvation is commonplace in District [-].Who hasn't seen those starving people?Elderly people who can't work, children with many sisters who can't support them, people injured in mines, they are forced to live on the streets.I don't know when, sitting against the wall, my body is already stiff, or lying on the "pasture" to die.There was often the sound of wailing.Those vigilantes would come to collect the bodies, and they lied that these people had the flu, or an infection, or pneumonia.Hunger will never be an official cause of death, but that fools no one.

I met Peeta Mylark one rainy, bitingly cold afternoon when I went to the public market to trade some of Prim's battered baby clothes for something to eat, but no one cared for my stuff.Although I had been to the mines with my father a few times before, it was still scary to be alone in this rocky, wild and rugged place.I was wearing my father's hunting jacket, which was completely wet from the rain, and I felt cold to the bone.For three days, we drank only hot water and ate some cold, dry mint leaves that I found in the corner of the cupboard.When the market closed, I was shivering from the cold, and my clothes and parcels fell in the mud.I didn't dare to pick it up, for fear that if I fell to the ground, I wouldn't be able to get up again.Besides, no one wanted those clothes anyway.

I can't go home, go back to face my mother's staring eyes and my sister's sunken cheeks and dry lips; We can only use some wet firewood from the edge of the forest.I am completely hopeless!
I was walking alone in the mud behind the store.These stores sell to the richest people in town, and the merchants live upstairs, and I literally walk in their back yards.I remember the gardens were unplanted for spring, a sheep or two were penned, and a dripping dog was hunched over and tied to a post.

Any act of stealing is prohibited in the [-]th district, and the thief will be executed.It just crossed my mind that maybe I could find something to eat in the trash, and nobody cares.Maybe find some leftover bones at the butcher, or some rotten vegetables at the grocery store, things no one would eat, but my family is so hungry they can.As luck would have it, the trash can has just been emptied.

As I passed the bakery, the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread made me dizzy.The oven is in the backyard, and the golden flames exude a strong warmth, pouring out of the open kitchen door, a warm current and the smell of bread passing by, I seem to be hypnotized, dazed; but the cold wet rain Like cold fingers, it hit me in the face, forcing me to regain consciousness.I lifted the lid of the trash can, it was empty, it was heartless.

Suddenly I heard a voice screaming at me, I looked up and saw the baker's wife yelling at me, telling me to get out of here or call the security police, and she said she saw "the seam" It made her sick to see the feral children picking up her trash can.These foul words beat me one after another, but I was powerless to resist.I stepped back as I carefully put the lid on the trash can, and that's when I saw him, a little blond-haired boy poking his head out from behind his mother and looking at me.I met him at school, he was in my grade, but I don't know his name.He often hangs out with foreign kids in the city, so how could I know his name?At this time, his mother came back to the bakery, still muttering.I walked towards the back of his pigsty, went under an old apple tree on the other side of the pigsty, and leaned weakly on the trunk, his gaze never leaving me.When I thought of returning empty-handed, I couldn't hold on any longer, my knees were sore, and I collapsed under the tree.I can't take it anymore, I'm too tired, too weak, too sick. "Let them call the security police and send me to an orphanage," I thought, "or let me die here, in the rain."

At this time, there was a lot of noise in the bakery. I heard the woman screaming again, and faintly heard beating and scolding. I was wondering what happened, but I heard someone walking towards me from the mud.I thought to myself, "It must be her, and she's going to drive me away with a stick." But it wasn't she who came, it was the boy, with two big loaves of bread in his arms, which must have fallen into the fire , the outer skin was burnt black.

His mother was still yelling, "Feed it to the pigs, you idiot, no respectable customer would buy this burnt bread!"

He began tearing off large chunks of burnt bread and throwing them into the pig trough.The bell on the front door of the bakery rang, and his mother rushed to meet the customers.

The boy never looked my way again, but I was staring at him because of the bread in his hand and the bruise on his face.What did she hit him with?

My parents never hit me, I can't even imagine them hitting me.The boy glanced again at the bakery, as if to check for occupants, his attention returned to the pig, and he threw a large loaf of bread in my direction, followed quickly by another, his The movement is very quick.After that, he ran back to the bakery with heavy feet and shallow feet, and closed the kitchen door behind him.

I looked at the bread and couldn't believe my eyes.This bread is so good, except for being a bit burnt, it was perfect.Did he ask me to take it?must be.The bread was thrown at my feet.Before no one saw me, I quickly stuffed the bread into my clothes, wrapped the clothes around my body vigorously, and walked away quickly.The heat of the bread scalded my skin, and I wrapped myself tighter, holding this lifeblood tightly in my arms.

When I got home, the bread was a little cold, but it was still warm inside.I put the bread on the table, and Prim reached up to tear a piece off.But I told her to sit down and wait for mom to come along.I poured hot tea, scraped off the burnt spots, and sliced ​​the bread.Slice by slice, we ate the whole loaf.This bread is so delicious, filled with raisins and nuts.

I took off my clothes and dried them slowly by the fire, climbed into bed, and fell into a sweet dream.The next day, when I thought about it, it occurred to me that maybe the boy had burned the bread on purpose.Knowing that he would be punished, he dropped the bread into the fire and gave it to me.But I think it might be wrong to think so.The bread should have fallen into the fire by accident, why would he do that?He doesn't even know me.

But even so, it was a good intention to give me bread, and I would definitely be beaten if I was found out.I can't explain his behavior.

We ate some bread and went to school.Spring seems to have arrived overnight.Warm wind, white clouds.In the school hall, I passed the boy. His face was swollen and his eye sockets were black.He was with his friends and didn't notice me.But in the afternoon when I picked up Prim to go home, I saw him looking at me from across the playground.Our eyes meet for a second before he looks away quickly.I also lowered my eyes in embarrassment.At that moment, I saw the first dandelions of spring.My mind was racing, thinking of the time I spent in the woods with my dad, and suddenly I had an idea of ​​a good way to keep us alive.

To this day, I cannot forget how grateful I am for this boy.Peeta Mylark, who gave us bread and hope; Dandelion, who reminded us that we are not dead yet.In the corridors of the school, I saw him more than once, and our eyes crossed only briefly.I feel like I owe him something, and I don't like being owed anything.If I'd thanked him somehow, I wouldn't be so conflicted now.I did think about it once or twice, but the opportunity never came up.And now, I have no chance.We are about to be thrown into the arena to fight to the death.How do I thank him in that place?Anyway, cutting his throat and being honest are opposites.

The Mayor's dull speech finally came to an end, and he motioned for me to shake hands with Peeta.His hands were strong and warm, like the bread.He looked me straight in the eye and took my hand.His grip was tight, which to me might indicate firmness, but maybe it was just a nervous twitch.Then we turned to face the audience, and the Panem national anthem was played.

"Well," I thought, "there are twenty-four of us. Chances are someone else killed him before I killed him."

Of course, this is only a possibility.The odds are not very reliable either.

(End of this chapter)