The Hunger Games Short Story Collections

The Coal Miner

=The Coal Miner=

Chapter 22, Taken from page 365-366

“Come on, Pa! We’re going to be late!” Says the little blond haired boy as he drags his father across the square towards the school. His little legs bound agilely on the rough, stone pathways rapidly followed by the heavy, long strides of his father.

He huffs in exasperation but quickens his pace, matching the speed of his youngest son. “No, we’re going to be early,” he tells the boy. “School doesn’t start for another quarter of an hour!”

The boy turns around; his large, blue eyes twinkle in disappointment as they start to water. “But I want to get there now!” He whines.

Oh, goody, the father thinks. Good that his wretched mother isn’t here to see this. The poor boy would surely get a whopping from her. “Don’t worry yourself, son. We’ll get there soon.”

The son’s little hand disappears from his father’s long since scarred hand as he skips ahead. Many prying eyes drift towards the child in resentment; he was fed much better than the rest of the people in this town. Even her.

The man shakes his head, he can’t allow such thoughts. The woman he had always loved had chosen another, and had born a child the same age as his beloved son. Maybe, he considers. Maybe they could be friends. I might even be able to speak to her again. It has been far too long.

When they reach the line, he searches for her. Sure enough, there she is; holding a small baby in her arms and a little girl tugging on her hand. The man sighs as the coal miner comes into view and wraps his dusty arms around her waist. He seethes with jealousy, how he dare win her heart.

The man kneels down to the boy’s level and attains his attention with a small tap on his shoulder. He points towards the happy family and smiles. “See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.”

The little girl in the red plaid dress spins around, thin olive toned arms spread wide, her braids whipping around her head. She laughs; her voice strong even in her youngest years.

To his surprise, his little son pouts in dismay. ‘A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could’ve had you?” Ah, to have the mind of a five year old again would be the only blessing off this old man. Life would be such simpler.

The man’s face distorts into pain as he says the words which hurt the most; the reason the love of his life left him. “Because when he sings… even the birds stop to listen.”

Oh, how the miner repulsed the man. He had taken everything that had mattered to him, and brought her down to the appalling conditions of Seam.

However much the man hated the minor, he could never bring himself to do anything about it. Brought up in the life of a baker, he had learned how to walk through fire and how to ignore the pain from his burns. Yet, even if he had had a violent past, he couldn’t have bought himself to do it. He could never harm the woman he loved, in either way.

The little boy looks up once again to face his father, his eyes piercing in the fresh light, breaking his father’s thoughts, lines creases his little forehead as he concentrates. “Pa… when she sings, would the birds stop, too?”

What if she can? She would be far too much like her father, then. She hasn’t even inherited her appearances from her mother. The baby, though, perhaps. But none can ever match the darling long locks, the color of threaded gold. No, instead the girl has inherited her father’s deep brown hair, a sharp contrast to both her sisters and mother.

“I don’t know, Peeta. I don’t know.”