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I
found
myself
stumbling
along
a
muddy
lane
behind
the
shops
that
serve
the
wealthiest
townspeople
.
The
merchants
live
above
their
businesses
,
so
I
was
essentially
in
their
backyards
.
I
remember
the
outlines
of
garden
beds
not
yet
planted
for
the
spring
,
a
goat
or
two
in
a
pen
,
one
sodden
dog
tied
to
a
post
,
hunched
defeated
in
the
muck
.
All
forms
of
stealing
are
forbidden
in
District
12
.
Punishable
by
death
.
But
it
crossed
my
mind
that
there
might
be
something
in
the
trash
bins
,
and
those
were
fair
game
.
Perhaps
a
bone
at
the
butcher
's
or
rotted
vegetables
at
the
grocer
's
,
something
no
one
but
my
family
was
desperate
enough
to
eat
.
Unfortunately
,
the
bins
had
just
been
emptied
.
When
I
passed
the
baker
's
,
the
smell
of
fresh
bread
was
so
overwhelming
I
felt
dizzy
.
The
ovens
were
in
the
back
,
and
a
golden
glow
spilled
out
the
open
kitchen
door
.
I
stood
mesmerized
by
the
heat
and
the
luscious
scent
until
the
rain
interfered
,
running
its
icy
fingers
down
my
back
,
forcing
me
back
to
life
.
I
lifted
the
lid
to
the
baker
's
trash
bin
and
found
it
spotlessly
,
heartlessly
bare
.
Suddenly
a
voice
was
screaming
at
me
and
I
looked
up
to
see
the
baker
's
wife
,
telling
me
to
move
on
and
did
I
want
her
to
call
the
Peacekeepers
and
how
sick
she
was
of
having
those
brats
from
the
Seam
pawing
through
her
trash
.
The
words
were
ugly
and
I
had
no
defense
.
As
I
carefully
replaced
the
lid
and
backed
away
,
I
noticed
him
,
a
boy
with
blond
hair
peering
out
from
behind
his
mother
's
back
.
I
'd
seen
him
at
school
.
He
was
in
my
year
,
but
I
did
n't
know
his
name
.
He
stuck
with
the
town
kids
,
so
how
would
I
?
His
mother
went
back
into
the
bakery
,
grumbling
,
but
he
must
have
been
watching
me
as
I
made
my
way
behind
the
pen
that
held
their
pig
and
leaned
against
the
far
side
of
an
old
apple
tree
.
The
realization
that
I
'd
have
nothing
to
take
home
had
finally
sunk
in
.
My
knees
buckled
and
I
slid
down
the
tree
trunk
to
its
roots
.
It
was
too
much
.
I
was
too
sick
and
weak
and
tired
,
oh
,
so
tired
.
Let
them
call
the
Peacekeepers
and
take
us
to
the
community
home
,
I
thought
.
Or
better
yet
,
let
me
die
right
here
in
the
rain
.
There
was
a
clatter
in
the
bakery
and
I
heard
the
woman
screaming
again
and
the
sound
of
a
blow
,
and
I
vaguely
wondered
what
was
going
on
.
Feet
sloshed
toward
me
through
the
mud
and
I
thought
,
It
's
her
.
She
's
coming
to
drive
me
away
with
a
stick
.
But
it
was
n't
her
.
It
was
the
boy
.
In
his
arms
,
he
carried
two
large
loaves
of
bread
that
must
have
fallen
into
the
fire
because
the
crusts
were
scorched
black
.
His
mother
was
yelling
,
"
Feed
it
to
the
pig
,
you
stupid
creature
!
Why
not
?
No
one
decent
will
buy
burned
bread
!
"
He
began
to
tear
off
chunks
from
the
burned
parts
and
toss
them
into
the
trough
,
and
the
front
bakery
bell
rung
and
the
mother
disappeared
to
help
a
customer
.
The
boy
never
even
glanced
my
way
,
but
I
was
watching
him
.
Because
of
the
bread
,
because
of
the
red
weal
that
stood
out
on
his
cheekbone
.
What
had
she
hit
him
with
?
