THE TRIBUTES - The Hunger Game1 By Suzanne Collins

The Hunger Games trilogy is a young-adult adventure science fiction series written by Suzanne Collins. The trilogy consists of The Hunger Games,Catching Fire, and Mockingjay. The first two books were each The New York Times best sellers, and the third book, Mockingjay, topped all US bestseller lists upon its release. By the time the movie The Hunger Games was released the publisher reported 26 million Hunger Games trilogy books in print, including movie tie-in books.

From the book

"When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers
stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the
rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad
dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did.
This is the day of the reaping.
I prop myself up on one elbow. There’s enough light in the
bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her
side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together.
In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but not
so beaten-down. Prim’s face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely
as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was
very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
Sitting at Prim’s knees, guarding her, is the world’s ugliest
cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of
rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his
muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. I le hates me.
Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think
he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when
Prim brought him home. Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with
worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was
another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I
had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of
the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional
rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the
entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.
Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots.
Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a
shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage
bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from
hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese
wrapped in basil leaves. Prim’s gift to me on reaping day. I put
the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside.
Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is"

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