Chapter 7 Chapter 7 Desperation

When I slept, I had nightmares, the face of the red-haired girl intertwined with bloody images from the old Hunger Games; my mother was weak and withdrawn, and I could never reach her; Prim looked so weak and scared; Dad ran, and the mine exploded, scattering thousands of points of death. The morning light shone through the windows into the house, and the Capitol sky was shrouded in mist and gloomy.My head hurts, and I must have bitten my cheek at night. I licked the bitten place with my tongue, and it smelled like blood. Slowly, I got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom.I hit a button on the control panel at random and alternate streams of cold and scalding water erupted from under my feet, followed by a lemon-scented foam bath that overwhelmed me and had to be scrubbed off with a stiff bristle brush .Oh well, at least my blood flow has sped up.

I dried myself off, put on body lotion, and when I came out of the bathroom, I found that a set of clothes had been prepared on the outermost side of the closet.Tight black trousers, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic and leather shoes.I wear a long braid.For the first time since the morning of the Harvest ceremony, I have dressed more like my normal self.No outlandish hairstyles and costumes, no flaming capes.It was me, looking like I was going to the woods, which made me feel very secure. Haymitch didn't give us a specific time for our breakfast meeting, and no one contacted me this morning.I was hungry, so I came to the restaurant on my own, hoping to have something to eat.I was not disappointed, there was no food on the middle table, but there were at least twenty dishes on the long side table.A young male Avax stood respectfully by the table.He nodded when I asked him if he could help himself.So I put eggs, sausage, cake with a thick layer of candied orange, sliced ​​lavender melon on the dinner plate.I munch my food and watch the sun rise over the Capitol.I served another plate of hot rice with beef stew.Finally, fill up a plate of egg rolls, sit at the table, tear open the egg rolls bit by bit, and eat them with hot chocolate, the same way Peeta eats them on the train.

My thoughts flew back to Mom and Prim.They must have been up.Mom was preparing polenta for breakfast and Prim was milking the sheep before school.Two days ago, I was still at home.is this real?Yes, just two days.But now the house looks empty, even if it is far away, it can be felt.What did they say about my opening in the firelight yesterday?When they saw that only one of the twenty-four contestants in a circle could survive, did all this add hope or fear to them? Haymitch and Peeta arrive, say hello, and fill their plates with food.It annoys me that Peeta's costume looks exactly like mine.I need to talk to Cena about this.When the Hunger Games started, our twin outfits were sure to embarrass us.Pretty sure they must know this.Then I remembered that Haymitch told us to do everything the designer wanted us to do.I really wanted to ignore his words, but after last night's success, my choice of him seemed understandable.

The training that is about to start makes me nervous.Over the course of three days, all "tributes" will train together.By the afternoon of the last day, we were able to practice privately in front of the race organizers.The thought of training face-to-face with other players makes me uneasy.I've lost my appetite as I turn the egg roll I just picked up from the basket back and forth between my fingers. Haymitch finished several plates of stew, pushed the plates away from him with a sigh, took a long-necked flask from his pocket, took a long sip, and leaned his elbows on the table. "Well, let's get down to business. Training. If you want, you can quit and I'll train you individually. Decide now."

"Why are we being trained individually?" I asked. "Let's put it this way, if you have a secret, you can keep it from others," Haymitch said. Peeta and I exchange glances. "I don't have any secrets," Peeta said, "but I already know yours, right? I mean, I've eaten a lot of squirrels you shot." It never occurred to me that Peeta ate the squirrels I shot.I always thought it was the baker who quietly took the squirrel away and fried it himself.Not because of greed, but usually city people eat expensive pork, beef, chicken and horsemeat. "You can have us both train together," I say to Haymitch, and Peeta nods.

"Okay, let's see what you two can do," Haymitch said. "I don't know anything, unless counting toast counts," Peeta said. "Sorry, that doesn't count. I know you know knives, Katniss," Haymitch said. "Not really, but I can hunt," I said, "with a bow and arrow." "Are you good at archery?" Haymitch asked. I have to think about this.It has been four years since I have been feeding my family. This is not an easy task. I am not as good at archery as my father, but he also practiced a lot.I aim better than Gale, but I also practice more than him.But he's a genius at trapping prey.

"I'm fine." I said. "She's great," Peeta said. "My dad buys her squirrels a lot. He always says the arrows don't go through the squirrels, they're in the eyes. The same goes for the rabbits she sells to the butchers, and she even shoots them. to the deer." What Peeta said about my prey really took my breath away.First, he can observe these details; second, he is praising me vigorously. "What are you doing?" I said doubtfully. "Why? If he's going to help you, he needs to know what you can do, don't underestimate yourself," Peeta said.

For some reason, what he said made me uncomfortable. "What about you? I saw you at the market, and you could carry a hundred-pound bag of flour. Tell him, it's not easy," I said to him. "Yeah, I'm sure the arena is full of dough bags so I can hit people with them. It's not the same as being able to use a weapon. You know, it's not the same," he retorted, relentlessly. "He can wrestle," I said to Haymitch. "He finished second in our school wrestling competition last year, just behind his brother." "What's the use of that? How many times have you seen someone fall and die?" Peeta said wearily.

"There will always be unarmed combat in the game. As long as you have a knife, you have a great chance of winning. If I am thrown, then I will die!" My voice has risen because of anger. "You wouldn't, in the jungle you could live eating squirrels raw, killing them one by one with a bow and arrow. You know, when my mother came to say goodbye, she said maybe In the end, District 12 won. Then I realized that she wasn't talking about me at all, she was talking about you," Peeta said loudly and quickly. "Oh, she was talking about you," I said without thinking.

"She said, 'she' is the survivor, that's her, her," Peeta said. I was at a loss for words.His mother really said that about me?She thinks I'm better than her son?I saw the pain in Peeta's eyes and knew he wasn't lying. Suddenly, the bakery scene came back to my mind.The rain wets my back, and my stomach is unbearably hungry. "I am alive because someone saved me." I said, the tone of my words seemed to return to the time when I was eleven years old. Peeta's eyes rest on my egg roll, and I know he's thinking about that day, too.He just shrugged.

"There will be someone to help you in the arena. People will compete to sponsor you." "They don't give me as much sponsorship as you do," I said. Peeta turns to look at Haymitch. "She doesn't know how powerful she is." He scratched the wood grain on the table with his hand, unwilling to look up at me. What on earth does he mean?someone help me?When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me!Nobody but Peeta.That didn't change until I had an exchangeable item in my hand.I'm an old hand at trading.Is that right?What will happen to me?Because I'm weak and always need help?Does he mean that everyone has pity on me, and that's why they helped me generously when exchanging goods?I wondered if that was the case.Maybe some businessmen are more generous in their deals, and I attribute it all to their long-term friendship with Dad.Besides, my prey is pretty good too.No one has pity on me! I stared furiously at the egg roll in front of me, sure he was insulting me. After about a minute, Haymitch said, "Well, well, well, well, Katniss, the arena isn't guaranteed to have bows either, and you can show off your skills while the tournament organizers are doing private training, Until then, stop talking about your archery, and how are you at trapping your game?" "I can only play a few simple tricks." I muttered. "It helps you find food," Haymitch said. "Peeta, she's right, never underestimate your competitive ability. In many cases, strength is good for a player. In the training center , have weight training, don't show how strong you are in front of other 'tributes'. In this regard, you two are the same. When training in groups, it takes time to learn things that you don't know, like throwing spears, throwing nail heads. Learn to tie a knot. Show your true skills at personal training. Got it?" Haymitch said, and Peeta and I nodded. "And one last thing. In public, the two of you are to be around at all times," Haymitch said.We both objected at once, but Haymitch slapped his hands on the table and said, "All the time! There's no need to discuss this! You do what I say! Stay together and be nice to each other. Now, go. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten o'clock for training." Biting my lower lip, I strode back to the room and sat on the bed.I hate Haymitch, I hate Peeta, I hate myself for bringing up that day in the rain again. It's so ridiculous!Peeta pretending to be my friend!Talk about what I am capable of, and insist that I believe in my ability.In fact, at some point, we'll all have to throw it all away and admit that we're each other's formidable rivals.If it wasn't for Haymitch's suggestion that the two of us be stupid enough to train together, I'd accept that right now.Maybe, my own fault, I shouldn't have said we don't need to train separately or something, but that doesn't mean I have to do everything with Peeta.After all, no one has publicly said that they don't want to be in a group with me. Peeta's words still linger in my ears: "She doesn't know how good she is." That's clearly a sarcasm, isn't it?But I vaguely felt that he was complimenting me.He's saying I'm attractive in some ways.It was strange that he knew me so well.As if he was familiar with my hunting.Obviously, I am not as forgetful as I imagined about him, flour, wrestling, and I have been paying attention to the boy who gave me bread. It was almost ten o'clock.I brush my teeth and comb my hair.Just now, because of my anger, I temporarily forgot the tension of meeting other "tributes", but now my anxiety creeps back into my heart.When I meet Peeta and Effie at the elevator, I inadvertently find myself biting my nails again, but I stop immediately. The so-called training ground is a gymnasium under the building, and the elevator takes less than a minute to get there.The gate opens onto a huge gymnasium with a variety of weapons and an obstacle course.Although it was not yet ten o'clock, we were already the last ones to arrive.The other "tributes" form a tight circle.Pinned to their shirts is a square number cloth bearing the district's serial number.While someone was pinning my number 12, I quickly scanned around and only Peeta and I were dressed similarly. We also formed a circle with everyone, and the lead trainer, a tall and strong woman named Atala, came forward and explained the training schedule to us.Individual skill coaches are waiting at their respective training stations.We can choose the training site by ourselves according to the instruction of the instructor in our area.Some sites teach survival skills, others teach fighting skills.We strictly forbid fighting practice with other players.Practice with live assistants at any time if needed. Atala began to read the list of training sites, and I looked around at the players.It was the first time for contestants from each district to assemble on the ground wearing ordinary clothes.Seeing them, I feel very heavy. Although some contestants can't eat enough-this can be seen from their protruding skeletons, rough skin and deep-set eye sockets-but almost all boys and half The girls are taller than me.But after thinking about it, although I am short in stature, the flexible mind my family gave me is also my advantage. Besides, although I am small in stature, I have been eating wild animals and plants in the jungle all year round. His body is stronger and stronger than most people around me. The only exceptions are those players from wealthy jurisdictions, those volunteers who have been eating and training for this moment since birth.This is often the case for players from the first, second, and third districts.It's technically against the rules to train Tributes before coming to the Capitol, but it happens every year.In District 12, we call them "professional tributes," or "professional players."Like it or not, the winner is always one of them. The slight advantage gained by the successful appearance in the fire yesterday seems to have disappeared when facing a strong competitor today.Other "tributes" envy us not because we're good, but because our designers are good.At this time, there was only contempt and disdain in the eyes of the "professional tribute". Each of them seemed to be fifty to one hundred pounds heavier than me, and they looked arrogant and barbaric.As soon as Atala announced that we were disbanded, they headed straight for the training grounds, equipped with deadly weapons that they were comfortable wielding. I think I am lucky to be able to run fast.That's when Peeta nudged me and startled me.He did his bidding to Haymitch and stayed by my side.He looked serious. "Where do you want to start?" I looked around and saw the "professional tributes" showing off their power and eager to try; those who couldn't get enough to eat, who were obviously inferior, were tremblingly preparing to start with knives and axes. "I think we should learn how to tie knots," I said. "Okay," Peeta said.We walked across the practice field to an empty station where the coaches were delighted to see students coming, and the station gave off the feeling that knotting was not a popular Hunger Games class.When the coach learned that I knew a thing or two about rigging, he taught me a simple method of rigging, which can hang a person's leg from a tree.We worked hard for an hour to master this skill.After that we learn to camouflage.Peeta seemed very interested in this skill, spreading a paste of mud, clay, and pounded berries on his pale skin, and weaving a camouflage hat out of twigs and leaves.The coach is also passionate about his work. "I'm a cake maker," he told me quite frankly. "Cake?" I was watching intently as a District 2 player speared a dummy's heart from fifteen yards away. "What cake?" "At home, make that iced cake for the bakery," he said. He meant the kind of cake that was displayed in the window.One of those pretty cakes with flowers and little icing decorations.It is only eaten for birthdays or New Years.Prim used to drag me to see that kind of cake when we wandered around the 12th Arrondissement Plaza, but we could never afford it.There's nothing pretty in District 12, so I couldn't resist her request. I looked at the camouflage pattern on Peeta's arm, the light and dark stripes like the shadows of sunlight filtering through leaves, and wondered how he knew that, because I'd always wondered if he'd ever been out of District 12.Did he get his inspiration from the old apple tree in their backyard?All of those things—his skills, the uneaten cakes, the coaches' compliments on his camouflage—pissed me off. "Beautiful. Pity, if only you could freeze people to death with icing," I said. "Don't always be so high up, okay, who's to say what you'll find in the arena. Say, a giant cake—" Peeta said. "Like, let's go." I interrupted him. In the next three days, Peeta and I went from one station to another quietly, and we did learn many valuable skills, such as: making fire, throwing a knife, and building an awning.Even though Haymitch told us not to show off, Peeta was so good at hand-to-hand combat that I ate wild plants without batting an eyelid.We carefully steered clear of archery and weightlifting, trying to save that for individual training sessions. Race organizers came early on the first day.There were about twenty of them, both men and women, in dark purple robes.They sat in the spectator stands around the training ground, sometimes they would come to walk among us and take brief notes, and other times they would munch on the special food prepared for them and ignore us.But they seem to pay special attention to the players in the 12th district.A few times I looked up and saw someone staring at me.They also ask the coaches about the situation during the meal time, and they gather together when we finish the practice. Players in each district have breakfast and dinner on the floor where they live, but lunch is arranged in the restaurant outside the training ground.The food is placed in the dining car and is served by everyone.The pros like to sit around the same table, always talking very loudly, as if to show off their strength, to show that they are not afraid of each other, and don't think much of us at all.The other contestants sat scattered aside, like lost lambs.No one spoke to them.Peeta and I sat next to each other, and since Haymitch was always stalking us, we tried to chat amicably as we ate. Finding topics is not easy.Talking about family is painful, and talking about the present is unbearable.One day, Peeta emptied the small breakfast basket and told me how his family's bakery made elaborate breads, from regional to Capitol-style.The fish-shaped bread is dyed green with seaweed from District 4, and the crescent-shaped egg roll is dotted with nuts from District 11. Although they are all made of the same ingredients, they look much more delicious than the small biscuits baked in this district. . "Here, this is the bread everyone got," Peeta said, putting the bread back into the basket. "You know a lot," I said. "It's just bread," he said. "Well, laugh now, like we said something funny." As we said that, both of us laughed happily, ignoring the eyes staring at us around us. "Okay, now that I'm laughing, say something," Peeta said.Haymitch made us nice to each other, and it really wore us out.Ever since I slammed the door angrily that day, there has been a faint gap between me and Peeta, but at this time we must obey orders! "Did I tell you about the bear that chased me?" I asked. "No, but that sounds like fun," Peeta said. So I started talking, trying to be as expressive as I could.It's a real thing, and I was stupid enough to fight a bear over a hornet's nest - at which point Peeta laughs and asks a well-timed question.He can really pretend, much better than me in this respect. The next day, I was taking aim with my spear, and Peeta whispered in my ear, "I think we have a shadow." The spear is not bad.At this time, I saw the girl from District 11 watching us not far behind us.She was the twelve-year-old girl, who was only in her teens up close, and her height, which was similar to Prim, reminded me of my own sister.She looked bright, with big black eyes and smooth brown skin.She was standing on her tiptoes, with her arms slightly spread out on both sides of her body, as if she was about to fly away at the slightest movement, and her appearance reminded people of a bird with wings spread. As Peeta throws, I pick up another spear. "I think her name is Lulu," Peeta said softly. I bit my lip, "Lu" is a flower that grows on the meadow (Rue, English, meaning Rue. - Translator's Note).Lulu, Prim, neither of them weighed more than seventy pounds, even when wet. "What shall we do?" I asked him, speaking in a rough tone. "It can't be helped," he said. "Go on." Now that you see her, it's hard not to notice her.We were at different training grounds and she was always following us like a shadow.She is as good at plants as I am, crawling fast and aiming well.She hits the target every time with her slingshot.But how can a slingshot deal with a male player who weighs 220 pounds and holds a sharp knife? Over breakfast and dinner, Effie and Haymitch grill each other about everything that happened that day.What did we do, who was watching us, what happened to the other "tributes".Cinna and Portia were away, so there was no one to bring rational judgment to the discussion at the dinner table.Haymitch and Effie stopped arguing, and the two of them seemed to be entwined, determined to discipline us, to give us endless orders to do this and not to do that.Peeta is patient enough, but I'm tired of it and always keep a straight face. We managed to get out the next night, and when we got back to the bedroom, Peeta murmured, "Someone should get Haymitch drunk." I burst out laughing, but stopped immediately.My mind was so confused about when we should pretend to be friends and when we shouldn't.Fortunately, on the training ground, we all know our positions. "Don't, don't, don't pretend when no one is around." "Okay, Katniss," he said wearily.Since then, we only speak in front of other people. On the third day of training, we were called out at lunch for a single test with the race organizers.The tests are done district by district, first for boys and then for girls.As usual, District 12 comes last.We also had nowhere to go, just strolling around the restaurant.The contestants who finished the test left and never came back.There are fewer people in the room, and less pressure on me to pretend to be friendly.Finally, after Lulu was called away, it was just the two of us.I sat there, silent, and then someone called Peeta.He stood up. "Remember what Haymitch said, and don't forget to say that you can throw heavy objects." The words came out of my mouth without Peeta's approval. "Thanks, I will," he said. "You...can shoot an arrow." I nodded, not understanding why I said this.Maybe, even if I lose, I hope Peeta wins!It's good for our district, and it's good for Mom and Prim. After about fifteen minutes, someone called my name.I straightened my hair, straightened my back, and walked into the gym.As soon as I entered, I felt bad.The competition organizers have tested twenty-three contestants. They spent too long here, and most of them drank alcohol. In this regard, I was helpless, so I could only bite the bullet and proceed according to the original plan.I went to the station where the bows and arrows were displayed.Oh, bows and arrows!My hands have been itching for days.All kinds of bows and arrows are made of wood, plastic, metal, and some materials that I can't name.The tail feathers of the arrows were neatly cut.I picked out a bow and arrow and slung the matching quiver over my shoulder.The shooting distance is preset, but the distance is too close.The target is a standard ten-ring portrait target.So I walked to the center of the training ground and aimed at my first target - a dummy used to practice knife skills.When I drew the bow, something was wrong, the string was tighter than what I had at home, the arrow was stiffer, and I missed the dummy by inches.Few people in the auditorium paid attention to me at first, and everyone was even more absent-minded at this moment.For a while, I felt ashamed.I returned to the shooting position at the portrait target and shot many times in a row until I got the hang of the new weapon. I returned to the original position in the center of the training ground, drew the bow fully, and shot through the heart of the dummy with an arrow. Immediately afterwards, I shot the rope hanging the boxing sandbag. The sandbag hit the ground and split open with a snap.Without stopping, I rolled on the ground, then knelt on one leg, and shot another arrow, which hit the spotlight high above the training ground, causing sparks to fly from the spotlight. I shot a great arrow, and then I turned to the organizers of the contest, some nodding approvingly, but others eating the roast pig that had just been served. I was suddenly on fire.Now my life is hanging by a thread, but these people ignore me, I am not even a dead pig.My heart was pounding and my face was flushed.Without thinking, I drew an arrow from my quiver and shot it straight at the table where the contest organizer was sitting.Then they heard screams, and those people hurriedly stumbled back.The arrow just hit the apple in the roast pig's mouth, and the arrow and the apple were nailed to the wall behind.Everyone looked at me with puzzled eyes. "Thanks for watching," I said, and with a slight bow, I headed straight for the exit before they could announce it was over.