The clink of nails against glass. The silence of thousands holding their breath. The rustling of paper. The sharp intake of air as she prepares to speak the words that will end the world.
I stand in the middle. The middle of the crowd, the middle of her friends, the middle of the ages. But standing front and center was one thing I don't want.
The woman from the Capitol spoke two seemingly meaningless, average words I hear on a daily basis. But today their meaning was different. Their meaning wasn't love. Their meaning was doom.
The woman on the stage
smooths the paper
clears her throat
inhales air
and
says
"Maysilee Donner."
No.
No.
No.
It
can't
be.
I am standing front and center.
She releases her grip in her friends. She walks to the stage. She climbs the stairs.
I position myself stiffly seguinte to a Seam girl. I raise my head high. All I want at this moment is to be in his arms.
Safe
and
sound.
A boy is called.
Unimportant.
She is still there. I can't save her.
No one will save her.
The boy stands seguinte to me.
The woman calls a segundo boy.
A twelve-year-old.
He mounts the stage.
She is still there.
The twelve-year old stands bravely. He does not cry. I can tell he wants to.
I must save her.
My death can save her.
I can protect her.
"Wait!"
He pushes through the crowd.
Up the stairs.
No.
No.
He can't.
Doesn't he know it will break me?
I hear myself volunteering
I feel my arm gesturing wildly in the twelve-year-old's direction.
I see her sad, sad gaze on my eyes.
My name.
The woman is asking my name
I say
Haymitch Abernathy.
His name.
It usually brings música to my ears
and a smile to my face.
But now it brings only dread.
The twelve-year-old runs down the steps
and throws himself into the arms of his older sister standing in the crowd.
They laugh and they cry.
Good.
I saved two people today.
The boy laughs and cries.
His sister laughs and cries.
On the sidelines, his parents laugh and cry.
Us tributes on the stage stand stonily silent.
She will live.
She
will
live.
I swear I will die.
I will die.
He
will
live.
...
The arena.
Field.
Woods.
Mountain.
Beauty.
Poison.
Death.
She is still here.
He is still here.
Allies.
He'll be easier to save that way.
She won't die when I'm around her.
Walking, walking, walking.
Forever walking.
Never risking turning back.
Dodging. Hunting. Fleeing. Capturing. Surviving.
The Games are brutal, but the worst is yet to come.
A cliff.
What we've been walking for.
She sees an ending in it.
I see a beginning.
Nothing. A shelf of stone hangs over a pit of nothing. The arena ends with this pit and this shelf of stone. It is empty and unspectacular. Nothing.
I'm drawn to it. Something
lurking
under the surface.
Five of us left.
Five of us.
My death will come soon.
Leaving will save him.
Suicide. My own death will stop his.
I can leave.
Die.
He can't stop me.
Haymitch.
She's planning something.
I can see her mind working
Figuring ways to thwart my plan
Maysilee.
I hear myself speak
But I'm unsure of the words.
All I know is
I'm leaving him behind
The dead should not be with the living.
She's trying.
Trying to die.
I can't stop her.
A fight would be good for the Capitol.
Good for their audience.
A fight would only end in her favor.
I can't stop her.
I say
Okay
And turn from her beautiful face.
A pebble falls into the abyss
And I cast my glance down to watch.
The sun shines onto his hair.
Rays catch and a spotlight drifts onto him.
I want nothing mais than to
step
forward
and
embrulho, envoltório my arms around him.
But that will break me.
Looking up.
I can't look up.
It will destroy me.
Once she leaves
I will die.
It will save her.
I turn on my heel
Don't glance back.
I walk away
Don't glance back.
She's gone.
Don't look up.
Walking is harder than I'd ever thought.
Just as I'm about to throw myself
into
the
abyss,
a pebble lands on the edge.
A rock is thrown in.
I think I did it.
She left.
The woods are drawing nearer.
My pack is heavy on my shoulders.
The darts press against the fabric.
She left.
I catch the rock.
She left.
I laugh.
Crazily.
Maniacally.
Insanely.
She left.
Birds.
Beaks.
Neck.
Stabbing.
Screams.
Blood.
Pain.
Death.
Good.
No.
No.
No.
He's coming.
No.
He can't see me
like
this
I hold her hand. I clutch her hand.
Goodbye, Haymitch.
No.
I amor you.
I amor you too,
Maysilee.
I stand in the middle. The middle of the crowd, the middle of her friends, the middle of the ages. But standing front and center was one thing I don't want.
The woman from the Capitol spoke two seemingly meaningless, average words I hear on a daily basis. But today their meaning was different. Their meaning wasn't love. Their meaning was doom.
The woman on the stage
smooths the paper
clears her throat
inhales air
and
says
"Maysilee Donner."
No.
No.
No.
It
can't
be.
I am standing front and center.
She releases her grip in her friends. She walks to the stage. She climbs the stairs.
I position myself stiffly seguinte to a Seam girl. I raise my head high. All I want at this moment is to be in his arms.
Safe
and
sound.
A boy is called.
Unimportant.
She is still there. I can't save her.
No one will save her.
The boy stands seguinte to me.
The woman calls a segundo boy.
A twelve-year-old.
He mounts the stage.
She is still there.
The twelve-year old stands bravely. He does not cry. I can tell he wants to.
I must save her.
My death can save her.
I can protect her.
"Wait!"
He pushes through the crowd.
Up the stairs.
No.
No.
He can't.
Doesn't he know it will break me?
I hear myself volunteering
I feel my arm gesturing wildly in the twelve-year-old's direction.
I see her sad, sad gaze on my eyes.
My name.
The woman is asking my name
I say
Haymitch Abernathy.
His name.
It usually brings música to my ears
and a smile to my face.
But now it brings only dread.
The twelve-year-old runs down the steps
and throws himself into the arms of his older sister standing in the crowd.
They laugh and they cry.
Good.
I saved two people today.
The boy laughs and cries.
His sister laughs and cries.
On the sidelines, his parents laugh and cry.
Us tributes on the stage stand stonily silent.
She will live.
She
will
live.
I swear I will die.
I will die.
He
will
live.
...
The arena.
Field.
Woods.
Mountain.
Beauty.
Poison.
Death.
She is still here.
He is still here.
Allies.
He'll be easier to save that way.
She won't die when I'm around her.
Walking, walking, walking.
Forever walking.
Never risking turning back.
Dodging. Hunting. Fleeing. Capturing. Surviving.
The Games are brutal, but the worst is yet to come.
A cliff.
What we've been walking for.
She sees an ending in it.
I see a beginning.
Nothing. A shelf of stone hangs over a pit of nothing. The arena ends with this pit and this shelf of stone. It is empty and unspectacular. Nothing.
I'm drawn to it. Something
lurking
under the surface.
Five of us left.
Five of us.
My death will come soon.
Leaving will save him.
Suicide. My own death will stop his.
I can leave.
Die.
He can't stop me.
Haymitch.
She's planning something.
I can see her mind working
Figuring ways to thwart my plan
Maysilee.
I hear myself speak
But I'm unsure of the words.
All I know is
I'm leaving him behind
The dead should not be with the living.
She's trying.
Trying to die.
I can't stop her.
A fight would be good for the Capitol.
Good for their audience.
A fight would only end in her favor.
I can't stop her.
I say
Okay
And turn from her beautiful face.
A pebble falls into the abyss
And I cast my glance down to watch.
The sun shines onto his hair.
Rays catch and a spotlight drifts onto him.
I want nothing mais than to
step
forward
and
embrulho, envoltório my arms around him.
But that will break me.
Looking up.
I can't look up.
It will destroy me.
Once she leaves
I will die.
It will save her.
I turn on my heel
Don't glance back.
I walk away
Don't glance back.
She's gone.
Don't look up.
Walking is harder than I'd ever thought.
Just as I'm about to throw myself
into
the
abyss,
a pebble lands on the edge.
A rock is thrown in.
I think I did it.
She left.
The woods are drawing nearer.
My pack is heavy on my shoulders.
The darts press against the fabric.
She left.
I catch the rock.
She left.
I laugh.
Crazily.
Maniacally.
Insanely.
She left.
Birds.
Beaks.
Neck.
Stabbing.
Screams.
Blood.
Pain.
Death.
Good.
No.
No.
No.
He's coming.
No.
He can't see me
like
this
I hold her hand. I clutch her hand.
Goodbye, Haymitch.
No.
I amor you.
I amor you too,
Maysilee.
