to feed us. I stole eggs from nests, caught fish in nets,

sometimes managed to shoot a squirrel or rabbit for stew, and

gathered the various plants that sprung up beneath my feet.

Plants are tricky. Many are edible, but one false mouthful and

you’re dead. I checked and double-checked the plants I harvested

with my father’s pictures. I kept us alive.

Any sign of danger, a distant howl, the inexplicable break of

a branch, sent me flying back to the fence at first. Then I began

to risk climbing trees to escape the wild dogs that quickly got

bored and moved on. Bears and cats lived deeper in, perhaps

disliking the sooty reek of our district.

On May 8th, I went to the Justice Building, signed up for my

tesserae, and pulled home my first batch of grain and oil in

Prim’s toy wagon. On the eighth of every month, I was entitled

to do the same. I couldn’t stop hunting and gathering, of

course. The grain was not enough to live on, and there were

other things to buy, soap and milk and thread. What we didn’t

absolutely have to eat, I began to trade at the Hob. It was

frightening to enter that place without my father at my side,

but people had respected him, and they accepted me. Game

was game after all, no matter who’d shot it. I also sold at the

back doors of the wealthier clients in town, trying to remember

what my father had told me and learning a few new tricks

as well. The butcher would buy my rabbits but not squirrels.

The baker enjoyed squirrel but would only trade for one if his

wife wasn’t around. The Head Peacekeeper loved wild turkey.

The mayor had a passion for strawberries.

In late summer, I was washing up in a pond when I noticed

the plants growing around me. Tall with leaves like arrowheads.

Blossoms with three white petals. I knelt down in the

water, my fingers digging into the soft mud, and I pulled up

handfuls of the roots. Small, bluish tubers that don’t look like

much but boiled or baked are as good as any potato. “Katniss,”

I said aloud. It’s the plant I was named for. And I heard my father’s

voice joking, “As long as you can find yourself, you’ll

never starve.” I spent hours stirring up the pond bed with my

toes and a stick, gathering the tubers that floated to the top.

That night, we feasted on fish and katniss roots until we were

all, for the first time in months, full.

Slowly, my mother returned to us. She began to clean and

cook and preserve some of the food I brought in for winter.

People traded us or paid money for her medical remedies. One

day, I heard her singing.

Prim was thrilled to have her back, but I kept watching,

waiting for her to disappear on us again. I didn’t trust her. And

some small gnarled place inside me hated her for her weakness,

for her neglect, for the months she had put us through.

Prim forgave her, but I had taken a step back from my mother,

put up a wall to protect myself from needing her, and nothing

was ever the same between us again.

Now I was going to die without that ever being set right. I

thought of how I had yelled at her today in the Justice Building.

I had told her I loved her, too, though. So maybe it would

all balance out.

For a while I stand staring out the train window, wishing I

could open it again, but unsure of what would happen at such

high speed. In the distance, I see the lights of another district.

7? 10? I don’t know. I think about the people in their houses,

settling in for bed. I imagine my home, with its shutters drawn

tight. What are they doing now, my mother and Prim? Were

they able to eat supper? The fish stew and the strawberries?

Or did it lay untouched on their plates? Did they watch the recap

of the day’s events on the battered old TV that sits on the

table against the wall? Surely, there were more tears. Is my

mother holding up, being strong for Prim? Or has she already

started to slip away, leaving the weight of the world on my sister’s

fragile shoulders?

Prim will undoubtedly sleep with my mother tonight. The

thought of that scruffy old Buttercup posting himself on the

bed to watch over Prim comforts me. If she cries, he will nose

his way into her arms and curl up there until she calms down

and falls asleep. I’m so glad I didn’t drown him.

Imagining my home makes me ache with loneliness. This

day has been endless. Could Gale and I have been eating

blackberries only this morning? It seems like a lifetime ago.

Like a long dream that deteriorated into a nightmare. Maybe,

if I go to sleep, I will wake up back in District 12, where I belong.

Probably the drawers hold any number of nightgowns, but I

just strip off my shirt and pants and climb into bed in my underwear.

The sheets are made of soft, silky fabric. A thick fluffy

comforter gives immediate warmth.

If I’m going to cry, now is the time to do it.