"It was a waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" He dodges the pillow I throw at him. "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back again!" I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. "She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead."
This is an excerpt from Suzanne Collin's Mockingjay, the third book of the Hunger Games Trilogy. I know someone would definitely die because it was all genocide that particular time but I was caught off guard on how this one was delivered. It made me pour buckets while listening to Rue's Lullaby from the Hunger Games.
/dmarco
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