Hunger Games Monologues Mga Nobela at Kwento

Then, my stomach let out a loud, hollow growl, reminding me that I hadn't eaten lunch or dinner the previous day. I groaned dramatically into the darkness of the room, throwing the heavy silk duvet aside. "King Zion leaves me burning, and just like that I forget I haven't eaten," I muttered under my breath as my bare feet hit the fluffy mat. My head was pounding mildly, no doubt from the whiskey, but it was nothing I couldn't handle with coffee. Acter scrubbing quick and wearing on the usual slave dresses, I stepped out. Outside my door, a total of four guards stood, neither looking at me.

When Malcolm sees that, he sighs and takes back his bowl of porridge, saying to her: "Open your mouth" Mia just lowers her head and does not react. Malcolm is a little impatient but still tries to advise the girl in a calm voice: “Do you want to starve to death? Honestly, look at your body, how sick you look. If you were ugly, I wouldn't even look at you." "That's what I want too..."

I tell him and he moves to the edge of his seat. “If Mr. Himes was here then you definitely have an issue. They only send him when they want a problem to go away. What I don’t understand is how you are still breathing.” Xavier says to me and now I am really concerned about what I have gotten myself into. “Are you saying that I should be dead?” I asked him as I placed my hand on my stomach that all of a sudden began to hurt and growl. “Ms. Thomas have you eaten today?” Xavier asks and I know he heard my stomach growl.

I murmured, forcing myself to speak. His brow arched, and his voice came out low, and husky. “Why are you sorry?” I hesitated. “You didn’t say anything. So I thought maybe I said something wrong. You probably—” “Chloe.” My name stopped me cold. “Y-Yes?” His eyes locked on mine through the screen. His voice softened, yet darkened at the same time. “Have you ever seen a starving man?” I blinked. “What?” “A man who’s gone too long without food,” he said slowly. “Who’s had to sit at a table and watch others feast, while he goes hungry. Even when what he craves is right in front of him, and close enough to touch, he still can’t have it.”

My gut twisted. The only “reward” I’d seen so far was seeing someone else bleed out on the floor instead of me. The voice must have picked up on the silence, because it spoke again — slower this time, like it was soothing a group of children. “After all… what comes after a nice little game?” it purred. “That’s right — Dinner Time. We wouldn’t want our brave little survivors playing on an empty stomach, would we?” The teenage boy’s stomach actually growled right then, like the damn thing was mocking him. He turned red, looking down.

I tried to stand up, holding onto the chair so that I could go and ask the cafeteria attendant what she put in my food but…I fell back on the floor. I couldn't walk with an aching stomach. It felt as though someone was stabbing me with a million silver daggers in the stomach. "I have informed Jonas and he has told me that he's on the way. Please don't give up on life, Hazel. We have come a long way for you to give up. If you don't want to do it for yourself then do it for me. Don't give up on me, okay." Monalisa said and tears streamed down her cheeks. She pulled me into her arms and hugged me too tightly. More tears flowed from my eyes when I heard what she said.

The old man said to her with all seriousness: If you are hungry, so you said to serve food and eat, why do you just look, I feel your hunger and your stomach is in pain because of this hunger. sera looked at her seriously and said, "I'm already very hungry, but what if he was putting me a drug pill or something like that, what am I going to do then and the worst is that it's a deadly poison I can't do anything and I will kill like this without a goal."

And I knew he'd do it; I knew that he'd hurt me like he said he wanted to. "I...I..." "What?" he growled. "I have to pee," I squeaked. Hezekiah cocked one of those thick eyebrows at me. "You what?" "I have to pee," I repeated. "And I'm hungry." "You're hungry?" he said the word 'hungry' like it was foreign; how dare I, a living human being, be hungry? "Yes, I'm hungry. I'm starving, actually. And I need to pee. That's the least you can do for me after biting me in the fucking neck—"

“No. But I’ve seen your type before. Strong. Proud. Fighters. The kind who’d rather crawl through fire than ask for help. The kind who’d rather starve than be spoon-fed.” I looked away, jaw clenched. “I know what weakness feels like for people like you,” he said, softer now. “It’s not just physical. It’s humiliation. It’s defeat. You hate it.” He was right. And I hated that he was right. He offered the spoon again. My pride screamed not to take it. But my stomach twisted with hunger, and my head throbbed from the tension. Slowly, I reached for the spoon and took it from him. “I’ll feed myself.”

The hunger became a driving force, fueling my determination to overcome any obstacle in my path. I focused my gaze on the unappetizing food, contemplating the choices before me. Should I succumb to my hunger and eat, regardless of the distaste it brought? Or should I resist, holding onto my dignity, refusing to give my captors the satisfaction of seeing me weaken? In that moment, a spark of defiance ignited within me. I realized that my hunger was not just physical; it represented my craving for liberation, my yearning to reclaim my power. I would not let them break my spirit, not even through the torment of hunger.