12/31/2023 0 Comments Buttercup hunger games description“This is really good, Katniss,” Peeta says after he's polished off a goose leg. Buttercup sits beside him, and they seem to exchange a knowing look. Peeta also comes over to see what the delicious smell is, and I serve him some roasted goose. Greasy Sae comes with him that's good because I'm sure he can't fix anything with a glass of wine in one hand and a hammer in another. He doesn't even know that one of his geese escaped and goes to patch up the hole in the coop. When the goose is cooked, I give Haymitch a portion. I realize that this is the first day in a long series of days that I've done anything productive. Soon the bird is cooking, rotating slowly in the fire. I skewer the goose with the metal spike that comes with the oven and stick it into the slot where it's supposed to go. He gives me an approving look, and I raise my eyebrow at him. But soon it's gutted and I'm feeding the entrails to Buttercup. I haven't hunted in weeks, maybe months, and cleaning the goose takes longer than I remember. “You're going to waste a perfectly good goose.” “Give me that,” I say, yanking the bird from him. He drops it at my feet and meows loudly at me before he starts to bite off its feathers. Buttercup brings it to my doorstep, its neck between his jaws. Haymitch has a goose that escapes its coop a few days later. He makes me feed him again, but the noise doesn't ever stop. I try moving to another room, but he just keeps it up outside the door until I'm throwing it open and glaring at him. Those things never seem to satisfy him, though, and he keeps up those kitten meows for a few days. I feed him everything Greasy Sae brings – bacon, sausages, liver spread. He almost has a kittenish expression on his ugly face, and then when he starts those annoyingly manipulative kitten mews, I know he's up to something. I feed him something just so that his jaw is preoccupied, but then, he licks his haunches and stares at me. Then he starts to meow, louder and louder until I'm covering my ears and yelling at him. He sits on front of the fire, blocking my view and staring up into my face with his ugly eyes. It's one of those days when Buttercup starts to talk to me. If I stay quiet and motionless long enough, maybe I'll petrify and turn into stone, and then everything will be as it should be. I don't have energy, both physical and mental, to do anything else on those days, so I just curl up and sit still as a statue. There are days when I sit in my rocking chair in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames until I feel like they're burned into my eyes.
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