the hunger games-饥饿游戏(英文版)-第1部分

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　…　手机访问　m。
………
¤╭⌒╮　╭⌒╮欢迎光临　　　　　　　
　╱◥██◣　╭╭　⌒　　　　　　　　　
︱田︱田田｜　╰……　　
　　　　　╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬╬版　权　归　原　作　者
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　【冷泉泓薇】整理　
附：【】内容版权归作者所有！


故事背景，设定在虚拟的近未来时空。作者以简略笔法，从主角口中片断交代这样的场景：战乱后荒芜的北美洲，重回古希腊城邦式的统治形态。极少数的统治贵族，住在固若金汤的特定区域，掌管绝大多数从事生产奉献的民奴。－－既是民奴，命如蝼蚁，死不足惜。每年选取各地区十二岁到十八岁的青少年，放在设计好的环境，命令自相残杀。再以监视镜头，在家中观赏近距离、多角度的真实杀戮。藉这种年度活动，展现贵族至高无上的统治权，使奴民知所畏惧，不敢叛变且维持供养。

这本书，以主角凯妮丝眼光，绝对第一人称「我」的视野来写。故事开始，将读者丢到年度抽签日。凯妮丝是十六岁少女，妹妹刚满十二岁，都具备应选资格，有可能成为生死格斗游戏、举世目光下被贵族玩耍到死的其中一员。先让读者知道这关键，再慢慢插叙，填补必要的背景设定。



PART　I
〃THE　TRIBUTES〃
1
When　I　wake　up；　the　other　side　of　the　bed　is　cold。　My　fingers　stretch　out；　seeking　Primˇs　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。　Thereˇs　enough　light　in　the　bedroom　to　see　them。　My　little　sister；　Prim；　curled　up　on　her　side；　cocooned　in　my　motherˇs　body；　their　cheeks　pressed　together。　In　sleep；　my　mother　looks　younger；　still　worn　but　not　so　beaten…down。　Primˇs　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　Primˇs　knees；　guarding　her；　is　the　worldˇs　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　heˇs　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　e　to　love。　
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。　Primˇs　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　usually　crawling　with　coal　miners　heading　out　to　the　morning　shift　at　this　hour。　Men　and　women　with　hunched　shoulders；　swollen　knuckles；　many　who　have　long　since　stopped　trying　to　scrub　the　coal　dust　out　of　their　broken　nails；　the　lines　of　their　sunken　faces。　But　today　the　black　cinder　streets　are　empty。　Shutters　on　the　squat　gray　houses　are　closed。　The　reaping　isnˇt　until
two。　May　as　well　sleep　in。　If　you　can。
Our　house　is　almost　at　the　edge　of　the　Seam。　I　only　have　to　pass　a　few　gates　to　reach　the　scruffy　field　called　the　Meadow。　Separating　the　Meadow　from　the　woods；　in　fact　enclosing　all　of　District　12；　is　a　high　chain…link　fence　topped　with　barbedwire　loops。　In　theory；　itˇs　supposed　to　be　electrified　twentyfour　hours　a　day　as　a　deterrent　to　the　predators　that　live　in　the　woods　�X　packs　of　wild　dogs；　lone　cougars；　bears　�X　that　used　to　threaten　our　streets。　But　since　weˇre　lucky　to　get　two　or　three　hours　of　electricity　in　the　evenings；　itˇs　usually　safe　to　touch。　Even　so；　I　always　take　a　moment　to　listen　carefully　for　the　hum　that　means　the　fence　is　live。　Right　now；　itˇs　silent　as　a　stone。　Concealed　by　a　clump　of　bushes；　I　flatten　out　on　my　belly　and　slide　under　a　two…foot　stretch　thatˇs　been　loose　for　years。　There　are　several　other　weak　spots　in　the　fence；　but　this　one　is　so　close　to　home　I　almost　always　enter　the　woods　here。　As　soon　as　Iˇm　in　the　trees；　I　retrieve　a　bow　and　sheath　of　arrows　from　a　hollow　log。　Electrified　or　not；　the　fence　has　been　successful　at　keeping　the　flesh…eaters　out　of　District　12。　Inside　the　woods　they　roam　freely；　and　there　are　added　concerns　like　venomous　snakes；　rabid　animals；　and　no　real　paths　to　follow。　But　thereˇs　also　food　if　you　know　how　to　find　it。　My　father　knew　and　he　taught　me　some　before　he　was　blown　to　bits　in　a　mine　explosion。　There　was　nothing　even　to　bury。　I　was　eleven　then。　Five　years　later；　I　still　wake　up　screaming　for　him　to　run。
Even　though　trespassing　in　the　woods　is　illegal　and　poaching　carries　the　severest　of　penalties；　more　people　would　risk　it　if　they　had　weapons。　But　most　are　not　bold　enough　to　venture　out　with　just　a　knife。　My　bow　is　a　rarity；　crafted　by　my　father　along　with　a　few　others　that　I　keep　well　hidden　in　the　woods；　carefully　wrapped　in　waterproof　covers。　My　father　could　have　made　good　money　selling　them；　but　if　the　officials　found　out　he　would　have　been　publicly　executed　for　inciting　a　rebellion。
Most　of　the　Peacekeepers　turn　a　blind　eye　to　the　few　of　us　who　hunt　because　theyˇre　as　hungry　for　fresh　meat　as　anybody　is。　In　fact；　theyˇre　among　our　best　customers。　But　the　idea　that　someone　might　be　arming　the　Seam　would　never　have　been　allowed。
In　the　fall；　a　few　brave　souls　sneak　into　the　woods　to　harvest　apples。　But　always　in　sight　of　the　Meadow。　Always　close　enough　to　run　back　to　the　safety　of　District　12　if　trouble　arises。　¨District　Twelve。　Where　you　can　starve　to　death　in　safety；〃　I　mutter。　Then　I　glance　quickly　over　my　shoulder。　Even　here；　even　in　the　middle　of　nowhere；　you　worry　someone　might　overhear　you。
When　I　was　younger；　I　scared　my　mother　to　death；　the　things　I　would　blurt　out　about　District　12；　about　the　people　who　rule　our　country；　Panem；　from　the　far…off　city　called　the　Capitol。　Eventually　I　understood　this　would　only　lead　us　to　more　trouble。　So　I　learned　to　hold　my　tongue　and　to　turn　my　features　into　an　indifferent　mask　so　that　no　one　could　ever　read　my　thoughts。　Do　my　ake　only　polite　small　talk　in　the　public　market。　Discuss　little　more　than　trades　in　the　Hob；　which　is　the　black　market　where　I　make　most　of　my　money。　Even　at　home；　where　I　am　less　pleasant；　I　avoid　discussing　tricky　topics。　Like　the　reaping；　or　food　shortages；　or　the　Hunger　Games。　Prim　might　begin　to　repeat　my　words　and　then　where　would　we　be？
In　the　woods　waits　the　only　person　with　whom　I　can　be　myself。　Gale。　I　can　feel　the　muscles　in　my　face　relaxing；　my　pace　quickening　as　I　climb　the　hills　to　our　place；　a　rock　ledge　overlooking　a　valley。　A　thicket　of　berry　bushes　protects　it　from　unwanted　eyes。　The　sight　of　him　waiting　there　brings　on　a　smile。　Gale　says　I　never　smile　except　in　the　woods。
¨Hey；　Catnip；〃　says　Gale。　My　real　name　is　Katniss；　but　when　I　first　told　him；　I　had　barely　whispered　it。　So　he　thought　Iˇd　said　Catnip。　Then　when　this　crazy　lynx　started　following　me　around　the　woods　looking　for　handouts；　it　became　his　official　nickname　for　me。　I　finally　had　to　kill　the　lynx　because　he　scared　off　game。　I　almost　regretted　it　because　he　wasnˇt　bad　pany。　But　I　got　a　decent　price　for　his　pelt。
¨Look　what　I　shot；〃　Gale　holds　up　a　loaf　of　bread　with　an　arrow　stuck　in　it；　and　I　laugh。　Itˇs　real　bakery　bread；　not　the　flat；　dense　loaves　we　make　from　our　grain　rations。　I　take　it　in　my　hands；　pull　out　the　arrow；　and　hold　the　puncture　in　the　crust　to　my　nose；　inhaling　the　fragrance　that　makes　my　mouth　flood　with　saliva。　Fine　bread　like　this　is　for　special　occasions。
¨Mm；　still　warm；〃　I　say。　He　must　have　been　at　the　bakery　at　the　crack　of　dawn　to　trade　for　it。　¨What　did　it　cost　you？〃
¨Just　a　squirrel。　Think　the　old　man　was　feeling　sentimental　this　morning；〃　says　Gale。　¨Even　wished　me　luck。〃
¨Well；　we　all　feel　a　little　closer　today；　donˇt　we？〃　I　say；　not　even　bothering　to　roll　my　eyes。　¨Prim　left　us　a　cheese。〃　I　pull　it　out。
His　expression　brightens　at　the　treat。　¨Thank　you；　Prim。　Weˇll　have　a　real　feast。〃　Suddenly　he　falls　into　a　Capitol　accent　as　he　mimics　Effie　Trinket；　the　maniacally　upbeat　woman　who　arrives　once　a　year　to　read　out　the　names　at　the　leaping。　¨I　almost　forgot！　Happy　Hunger　Games！〃　He　plucks　a　few　blackberries　from　the　bushes　around　us。　¨And　may　the　odds　�X〃　He　tosses　a　berry　in　a　high　arc　toward　me。
I　catch　it　in　my　mouth　and　break　the　delicate　skin　with　my　teeth。　The　sweet　tartness　explodes　across　my　tongue。　¨�X　be　ever　in　your　favor！〃　I　finish　with　equal　verve。　We　have　to　joke　about　it　because　the　alternative　is　to　be　scared　out　of　your　wits。　Besides；　the　Capitol　accent　is　so　affected；　almost　anything　sounds　funny　in　it。
I　watch　as　Gale　pulls　out　his　knife　and　slices　the　bread。　He　could　be　my　brother。　Straight　black　hair；　olive　skin；　we　even　have　the　same　gray　eyes。　But　weˇre　not　related；　at　least　not　closely。　Most　of　the　families　who　work　the　mines　resemble　one　another　this　way。　
Thatˇs　why　my　mother　and　Prim；　with　their　ligh