Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3)

by Suzanne Collins

Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone.

On the final page, under a sketch of my mockingjay pin, Cinna’s written, I’m still betting on you.

In other words, I step out of line and we’re all dead.

“If you knew what Finnick’s been through the last few years, you’d know how remarkable it is he’s still with us at all.

“They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

“Well, don’t expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.”

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.

“We named them nightlock in your honour, Katniss.

“Fire is catching!” I am shouting now, determined that he will not miss a word. “And if we burn, you burn with us!”

IF WE BURN YOU BURN WITH US

I have not sung “The Hanging Tree” out loud for ten years, because it’s forbidden,

And you … in Thirteen…” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

finnick odiar.

“Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies.

I feel my anxiety building.

real

But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch,

“It’s OK. It’ll be OK, sweetheart.

“You know who else, Katniss. You know who stepped up first.” Of course I do. Gale.

But antidotes don’t always work. They say that’s why he wears the roses that reek of perfume. They say it’s to cover the scent of blood from the mouth sores that will never heal.

Instead I watch myself get shot on television.

We may have been the smallest, poorest district in Panem, but we know how to dance.

“Your favourite colour … it’s green?”

I add them to my personal list of kills that began in the arena and now includes thousands.

Triggering the bomb that blows off his legs.

Underground, where I dread dying, which is stupid because even if I die above ground, the next thing they’ll do is bury me underground anyway.

Far below, I can just make out Finnick, struggling to hang on as three mutts tear at him.

NOOOOO

“I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss,” says Peeta. “Even if my mother isn’t a healer.”

deja vu

“I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then.”

“Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.”

There’s nothing to do but move forward, killing whoever comes into our path. Screaming people, bleeding people, dead people everywhere.

Scores of silver parachutes rain down on them.

First I get a glimpse of the blonde plait down her back. Then, as she yanks off her coat to cover a wailing child, I notice the duck tail formed by her untucked shirt.

I have the same reaction I did the day Effie Trinket called her name at the reaping.

And that’s when the rest of the parachutes go off.

PRIM NO

Real or not real? I am on fire.

Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

I badly need help working this out, only everyone I trust is dead. Cinna. Boggs. Finnick. Prim.

The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground. Dead.

yes but kill snow too bae

Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children’s lives to settle its differences.

like the photo of Finnick and Annie’s newborn son.

he was going to be a father

That what I need to survive is not Gale’s fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

peeta and katniss 4 life

So after, when he whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?” I tell him, “Real.”

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and grey eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs.

But there are much worse games to play.