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Israelmore Ayivor

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“அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே இச்சகத்து ளொரெலாம் எதிர்த்து நின்ற போதிலும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே துச்சமாக எண்ணி நம்மைத் தூறு செய்த போதினும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே பிச்சை வாங்கி உண்ணும் வாழ்க்கை பெற்று விட்ட போதிலும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே இச்சை கொண்ட பொருளெலாம் இழந்த விட்ட போதிலும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே. கச்சணிந்த கொங்கை மாதர் கண்கள் வீசு போதினும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே. நச்சை வாயி லேகொணர்ந்து நண்ப ரூட்டு போதினும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே. பச்சையூ னியைந்த வேற் படைகள் வந்த போதிலும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே. உச்சிமீது வானிடிந்து வீழுகின்ற போதினும், அச்சமில்லை அச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்பதில்லையே.”

“At a few minutes before four, Peeta turns to me again. "Your favorite colour . . . it's green?" "That's right." Then I think of something to add. "And yours is orange." "Orange?" He seems unconvinced. "Not bright orange. But soft. Like the sunset," I say. "At least, that's what you told me once." "Oh." He closes his eyes briefly, maybe trying to conjure up that sunset, then nods his head. "Thank you." But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces." Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.”

“Peeta's awake already, sitting on the side of the bed, looking bewildered as the trio of doctors reassure him, flash lights in his eyes, checks his pules. I'm disappointed that mine was not the first face he saw when he woke up, but he sees it now. His features registrer disbelief and something more intense that I can't quite place. Desire? Desperation? Surely both, for he sweeps the doctors aside, leaps to his feets and moves towards me. I run to meet him, my arms extended to embrace him. His hands are reaching for mine too, to caress my face, I think. My lips are forming his name when his fingers lock around my throat.”

“كانت تشعر برغبة جامحة لأن تقول له كما تقول أتفه النساء: «لا تتركني، احتفظ بي إلى جوارك، استعبدني، كن قوياً». ولكنها لا تستطيع ولا تعرف أن تتلفظ بمثل هذه الكلمات.”

“The beauty of this idea is that my decision to keep Peeta alive at the expense of my own life is itself an act of defiance. A refusal to play the Hunger Games by the Capitol's rules. My private agenda dovetails completely with my public one. And if I really could save Peeta... in terms of a revolution, this would be ideal. Because I will be more valuable dead. They can turn me into some kind of martyr for the cause and paint my face on banners, and it will do more to rally people than anything I could do if I was living. But Peeta would be more valuable alive, and tragic, because he will be able to turn his pain into words that will transform people.”

“I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? But a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.”