Leggi online Mockingjay - Benvenuti su lovinghungergames! MOCKINGJAYSUZANNE COLLINSSCHOLASTIC PRESS / NEW YORKFor Cap, Charlie, and Isabel. CONTENTSPART I. This is where the bed Ishared with my sister, Prim, stood. Over there was thekitchen table. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed ina charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest ofthe house. How else could I orient myself in this sea ofgray? Almost nothing remains of District 1. Peeta suddenly thought of Gale Hawthorne. A month ago,the Capitol's firebombs obliterated the poor coal miners'houses in the Seam, the shops in the town, even the Justice. Building. The only area that escaped incineration was the. Victor's Village. I don't know why exactly. Perhaps soanyone forced to come here on Capitol business wouldhave somewhere decent to stay. Acommittee assessing the condition of the coal mines. Asquad of Peacekeepers checking for returning refugees. The Hunger Games: Catching fire quotes are much grittier and meatier than its predecessor touching on. Katniss runs to stop the whipping But no one is returning except me. And that's only for abrief visit. The authorities in District 1. They viewed it as a costly and pointlessventure, given that at least a dozen invisible hovercraft arecircling overhead for my protection and there's nointelligence to be gained. I had to see it, though. So muchso that I made it a condition of my cooperating with any oftheir plans. Finally, Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemakerwho had organized the rebels in the Capitol, threw up hishands. Better to waste a day than anothermonth. Maybe a little tour of Twelve is just what she needsto convince her we're on the same side.
A pain stabs my left temple and Ipress my hand against it. Right on the spot where Johanna. Mason hit me with the coil of wire. The memories swirl as Itry to sort out what is true and what is false. What series ofevents led me to be standing in the ruins of my city? This ishard because the effects of the concussion she gave mehaven't completely subsided and my thoughts still have atendency to jumble together. Also, the drugs they use tocontrol my pain and mood sometimes make me see things. I guess. I'm still not entirely convinced that I washallucinating the night the floor of my hospital roomtransformed into a carpet of writhing snakes. I use a technique one of the doctors suggested. I startwith the simplest things I know to be true and work towardthe more complicated. The list begins to roll in my head.. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen yearsold. My home is District 1. I was in the Hunger Games. Peeta was takenprisoner. He is thought to be dead. Most likely he is dead. It is probably best if he is dead... He's up in a hovercraft, watching me carefully, readyto swoop in if anything goes amiss. Katniss Everdeen is a 16 year old protagonist and narrator. Katniss met Gale Hawthorne after stumbling. The whipping is ended, and Gale is brought to Mrs. The Hunger Games: Mockingjay: Part 1 is the film adaptation of. 1 and The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2. I realize I'm croucheddown now, elbows on my thighs, my head braced betweenmy hands. I must look on the verge of some kind ofbreakdown. Not when they're finally weaningme off the medication. I straighten up and wave his offer away. Gale asked to be dropped off in 1. I refused hiscompany. He understands I don't want anyone with metoday. Some walks you have to take alone. The summer's been scorching hot and dry as a bone. There's been next to no rain to disturb the piles of ash leftby the attack. They shift here and there, in reaction to myfootsteps. No breeze to scatter them. I keep my eyes onwhat I remember as the road, because when I first landed inthe Meadow, I wasn't careful and I walked right into a rock. Only it wasn't a rock- -it was someone's skull. It rolled overand over and landed faceup, and for a long time I couldn'tstop looking at the teeth, wondering whose they were,thinking of how mine would probably look the same wayunder similar circumstances. I stick to the road out of habit, but it's a bad choice,because it's full of the remains of those who tried to flee. Some were incinerated entirely. But others, probablyovercome with smoke, escaped the worst of the flames andnow lie reeking in various states of decomposition, carrionfor scavengers, blanketed by flies. I killed you,I think as Ipass a pile. And you. And you. Because I did. It was my arrow, aimed at the chink inthe force field surrounding the arena, that brought on thisfirestorm of retribution. That sent the whole country of. Panem into chaos. In my head I hear President Snow's words, spoken themorning I was to begin the Victory Tour. He was, perhaps, genuinelyattempting to enlist my help. But I had already setsomething in motion that I had no ability to control. Burning. Still burning,I think numbly. The fires at thecoal mines belch black smoke in the distance. There's noone left to care, though. More than ninety percent of thedistrict's population is dead. The remaining eight hundredor so are refugees in District 1. I'mconcerned, is the same thing as being homeless forever. I know I shouldn't think that; I know I should be gratefulfor the way we have been welcomed. Sick, wounded,starving, and empty- handed. Still, I can never get aroundthe fact that District 1. This doesn't absolve me of blame- -there's plenty of blameto go around. But without them, I would not have been partof a larger plot to overthrow the Capitol or had thewherewithal to do it. The citizens of District 1. No say in any of this. They only hadthe misfortune to have me. Some survivors think it's goodluck, though, to be free of District 1. To haveescaped the endless hunger and oppression, the perilousmines, the lash of our final Head Peacekeeper, Romulus. Thread. To have a new home at all is seen as a wondersince, up until a short time ago, we hadn't even known that. District 1. 3 still existed. The credit for the survivors' escape has landedsquarely on Gale's shoulders, although he's loath to acceptit. As soon as the Quarter Quell was over- -as soon as I hadbeen lifted from the arena- -the electricity in District 1. Seam became sosilent, people could hear one another's heartbeats. No onedid anything to protest or celebrate what had happened inthe arena. Yet within fifteen minutes, the sky was filled withhoverplanes and the bombs were raining down. It was Gale who thought of the Meadow, one of the fewplaces not filled with old wooden homes embedded withcoal dust. He herded those he could in its direction,including my mother and Prim. He formed the team thatpulled down the fence- -now just a harmless chain- linkbarrier, with the electricity off- -and led the people into thewoods. He took them to the only place he could think of, thelake my father had shown me as a child. And it was fromthere they watched the distant flames eat up everything theyknew in the world. By dawn the bombers were long gone, the fires dying,the final stragglers rounded up. My mother and Prim hadset up a medical area for the injured and were attemptingto treat them with whatever they could glean from thewoods. Gale had two sets of bows and arrows, one huntingknife, one fishing net, and over eight hundred terrifiedpeople to feed. With the help of those who were ablebodied,they managed for three days. And that's when thehovercraft unexpectedly arrived to evacuate them to District. The compartments had the disadvantage of beingunderground, the clothing was identical, and the food wasrelatively tasteless, but for the refugees of 1. They were beingcared for. They were alive and eagerly welcomed. This enthusiasm was interpreted as kindness. But aman named Dalton, a District 1. Awhile back, therewas some sort of pox epidemic that killed a bunch of themand left a lot more infertile. That's howthey see us. He's verylikely right about 1. We're not being kept inpens, we're being trained for work, the children are beingeducated. Those over fourteen have been given entry- levelranks in the military and are addressed respectfully as. But, of course, I hate almosteverybody now. Myself more than anyone. The surface beneath my feet hardens, and under thecarpet of ash, I feel the paving stones of the square. Aroundthe perimeter is a shallow border of refuse where the shopsstood. A heap of blackened rubble has replaced the. Justice Building. I walk to the approximate site of thebakery Peeta's family owned. Nothing much left but themelted lump of the oven. Peeta's parents, his two olderbrothers- -none of them made it to 1. Fewer than a dozenof what passed for District 1. Peeta would have nothing to come home to, anyway. Except me.. I back away from the bakery and bump into something,lose my balance, and find myself sitting on a hunk of sunheatedmetal. I puzzle over what it might have been, thenremember Thread's recent renovations of the square. Stocks, whipping posts, and this, the remains of thegallows. It brings on the flood of imagesthat torments me, awake or asleep. Peeta being tortured- -drowned, burned, lacerated, shocked, maimed, beaten- -asthe Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion thathe doesn't know. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reachfor him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to sendmy thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him. Running. Away from the square and to the one placethe fire did not destroy. I pass the wreckage of the mayor'shouse, where my friend Madge lived. No word of her or herfamily. Were they evacuated to the Capitol because of herfather's position, or left to the flames? Ashes billow uparound me, and I pull the hem of my shirt up over my mouth. It's not wondering what I breathe in, but who, that threatensto choke me. The grass has been scorched and the gray snow fellhere as well, but the twelve fine houses of the Victor's. Village are unscathed. I bolt into the house I lived in for thepast year, slam the door closed, and lean back against it. The place seems untouched. Why did Icome back to 1. How can this visit help me answer thequestion I can't escape? His calculating assistant, Fulvia. Cardew. A mishmash of district leaders. Military officials. But not Alma Coin, the president of 1. She's fifty or so, with gray hair that falls in an unbrokensheet to her shoulders. I'm somewhat fascinated by herhair, since it's so uniform, so without a flaw, a wisp, even asplit end. Her eyes are gray, but not like those of peoplefrom the Seam.
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