“If Peeta and I were both to die,
or they thought we were....My
fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt,
freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist.
"No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for
a long moment then lets go.
I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a
few spoonfuls of berries into his palm.
Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down
and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says.
We stand, our backs pressed together,
our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out.
I want everyone to see," he says.
I spread out my fingers,
and the dark berries glisten
in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye,
and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong
. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!"
It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand
to my mouth taking one last
look at the world. The berries have just passed
my lips when the trumpets begin to blare.
The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith
shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies
and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the
victors of the 74th Hunger Games,
"Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!!”
التعديل الأخير تم بواسطة БLŭĒ dяẺĀm ; 07-15-2013 الساعة 07:53 PM