The Hunger Games Trilogy

by Suzanne Collins

“I was only told they were being confined. Why are they being punished?” “For stealing food. We had to restrain them after an altercation over some bread,” says the guard. Venia’s brows come together as if she’s still trying to make sense of it. “No one would tell us anything. We were so hungry. It was just one slice she took.”

And now Coin, with her fistful of precious nukes and her well-oiled machine of a district, finding it’s even harder to groom a Mockingjay than to catch one.

you’re playing on their natural instincts to flee danger. Thinking like your prey . . . that’s where you find their vulnerabilities,”

Frankly, our ancestors don’t seem much to brag about. I mean, look at the state they left us in, with the wars and the broken planet. Clearly, they didn’t care about what would happen to the people who came after them. But this republic idea sounds like an improvement over our current government.

I was their Mockingjay long before I accepted the role.

During migration season, when we hunt fowl, we’ve developed a system of dividing the birds so we don’t both target the same ones. I get the far side of the V, Gale takes the near, and we alternate shots at the front bird.

Gale just misses the point plane.

“Why would they do that? Why would they target people who were already dying?” I ask him.

Because he never underestimates the cruelty of those we face.

“Cut!” Cressida’s voice snaps me back to reality, extinguishes me. She gives me a nod of approval. “That’s a wrap.”

They more than do their work, they take pride in it. Like Cinna.

I have a strange thought that if we were in the arena together, I would pick them as allies.

But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin.

They do fall silent when I sing. Just as they did for my father.

His lover, with her rope necklace, hanging dead next to him in the tree.

IF WE BURN YOU BURN WITH US

The glue of mutual need

He still has a happy glow from Beetee’s success on the Airtime Assault. Eyes on the forest, not on the trees.

“The cat! She went back for him!”

chekhov's gun

Would they be any protection against a nuclear attack?

The thought of spending whatever remains of my life in this stone vault horrifies me.

The citizens of 13 are truly starved for entertainment.

That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar.

“President Snow used to . . . sell me . . . my body, that is,” Finnick begins in a flat, removed tone. “I wasn’t the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it.”

I cover my face with my arms because this isn’t happening. It isn’t possible. For someone to make Peeta forget he loves me . . . no one could do that.

Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival. A water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater destruction. Endangering offspring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent. Luring the victim into what appears to be a safe haven — where death awaits it.

Not only does he hate me and want to kill me, he no longer believes I’m human.

“I thought . . . I’ll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I’m in.”

“Not if we blow it up,” says Gale brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. No interest in caging the prey for later use. This is one of his death traps.

“And if I were a spy in there, I’d say, ‘Bring on the avalanches!’ ”

political zealot

“Panem et Circenses translates into ‘Bread and Circuses.’ The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power.”

After Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, Plutarch yells, “What’s the point of the propo if no one’s having any fun!”

There’s no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event. Maybe it’s more than the festivities. Maybe it’s that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it.

Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and bursts into tears. “It’s been so long,” she gasps, “since I’ve seen anything pretty.”

Despite reservations on Coin’s side that it’s too extravagant, and on Plutarch’s side that it’s too drab, the wedding is a smash hit.

A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other’s lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage.

No, I don’t have to pretend to be happy for them.

After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune...

As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s.

All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.

You don’t know the first thing about executing orders, and you’re not exactly at your physical peak.”

I’m starving and the stew is so delicious — beef, potatoes, turnips, and onions in a thick gravy — that I have to force myself to slow down. All around the dining hall, you can feel the rejuvenating effect that a good meal can bring on. The way it can make people kinder, funnier, more optimistic, and remind them it’s not a mistake to go on living. It’s better than any medicine.

I cannot take orders.

be ungovernable.

When I exit the Block on the far side, a soldier congratulates me, stamps my hand with squad number 451, and tells me to report to Command.

“You couldn’t,” says Peeta. “She’d never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life.”

“People have gone wild,” Cressida murmurs.

“Never underestimate the power of a brilliant stylist,” says Peeta. It’s hard to tell, but I think Tigris might actually blush under her stripes.

Everyone inside the barricade is a child. Toddlers to teenagers. Scared and frostbitten. Huddled in groups or rocking numbly on the ground. They aren’t being led into the mansion. They’re penned in, guarded on all sides by Peacekeepers. I know immediately it’s not for their protection. If the Capitol wanted to safeguard them, they’d be down in a bunker somewhere. This is for Snow’s protection. The children form his human shield.

Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them. Even in this chaos, the children know what silver parachutes contain. Food. Medicine. Gifts. They eagerly scoop them up, frozen fingers struggling with the strings. The hovercraft vanishes, five seconds pass, and then about twenty parachutes simultaneously explode.

In the dazzling white Capitol hospital, the doctors work their magic on me. Draping my rawness in new sheets of skin. Coaxing the cells into thinking they are my own. Manipulating my body parts, bending and stretching the limbs to assure a good fit. I hear over and over again how lucky I am. My eyes were spared. Most of my face was spared. My lungs are responding to treatment. I will be as good as new.

rebirth; phoenix. mythological imagery.

Dr. Aurelius,