older people who can鈥檛 work. child-
ren from a family with too many to feed. those injured in the
mines. straggling through the streets. and one day, you come
upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the
meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the peacekee-
pers are called in to retrieve the body. starvation is never the
cause of death officially. it鈥檚 always the flu, or exposure, or
pneumonia. but that fools no one.
on the afternoon of my encounter with peeta mellark, the
rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. i had been in town,
trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of prim鈥檚 in
the public market, but there were no takers. although i had
been to the hob on several occasions with my father, i was too
frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. the
rain had soaked through my father鈥檚 hunting jacket, leaving
me chilled to the bone. for three days, we鈥檇 had nothing but
boiled water with some old dried mint leaves i鈥檇 found in the
back of a cupboard. by the time the market closed, i was shak-
ing so hard i dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud
puddle. i didn鈥檛 pick it up for fear i would keel over and be un-
able to regain my feet. besides, no one wanted those clothes.
i couldn鈥檛 go home. because at home was my mother with
her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and
cracked lips. i couldn鈥檛 walk into that room with the smoky
29
fire from the damp branches i had scavenged at the edge of
the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any
hope.
i found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the
shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. the merchants
live above their businesses, so i was essentially in their back-
yards. i remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted
for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a
post, hunched defeated in the muck.
all forms of stealing are forbidden in district 12. punisha-
ble by death. but it crossed my mind that there might be
something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. per-
haps a bone at the butcher鈥檚 or rotted vegetables at the groc-
er鈥檚, something no one but my family was desperate enough to
eat. unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied.
when i passed the baker鈥檚, the smell of fresh bread was so
overwhelming i felt dizzy. the ovens were in the back, and a
golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. i stood mesme-
rized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain inter-
fered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back
to life. i lifted the lid to the baker鈥檚 trash bin and found it spot-
lessly, heartlessly bare.
suddenly a voice was screaming at me and i looked up to
see the baker鈥檚 wife, telling me to move on and did i want her
to call the peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those
brats from the seam pawing through her trash. the words
were ugly and i had no defense. as i carefully replaced the lid
and backed away, i noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering
30
out from behind his mother鈥檚 back. i鈥檇 seen him at school. he
was in my year, but i didn鈥檛 know his name. he stuck with the
town kids, so how would i? his mother went back into the ba-
kery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as i
made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned
against the far side of an old apple tree. the realization that
i鈥檇 have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. my knees
buckled and i slid down the tree trunk to its roots. it was too
much. i was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. let them
call the peacekeepers and take us to the community home, i
thought. or better yet, let me die right here in the rain.
there was a clatter in the bakery and i heard the woman
screaming again and the sound of a blow, and i vaguely won-
dered what was going on. feet sloshed toward me through the
mud and i thought, it鈥檚 her. she鈥檚 coming to drive me away with
a stick. but it wasn鈥檛 her. it was the boy. in his arms, he carried
two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire
because the crusts were scorched black.
his mother was yelling, 鈥淔eed it to the pig, you stupid crea-
ture!
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