The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (The Hunger Games, #0)

by Suzanne Collins

A tendency toward obsession was hardwired into his brain and would likely be his undoing if he couldn’t learn to outsmart it.

People had short memories. They needed to navigate the rubble, peel off the grubby ration coupons, and witness the Hunger Games to keep the war fresh in their minds. Forgetting could lead to complacency, and then they’d all be back at square one.

This reaping day, like most, was shaping up to be a scorcher. But what else could you expect on July 4th?

“It’s just the kind of story that catches fire.”

“No, it isn’t! I don’t care what you say. You’ve no right to starve people, to punish them for no reason. No right to take away their life and freedom. Those are things everyone is born with, and they’re not yours for the taking. Winning a war doesn’t give you that right. Having more weapons doesn’t give you that right. Being from the Capitol doesn’t give you that right. Nothing does.

“Well, you know what they say. The show’s not over until the mockingjay sings,” she said.

“And try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.”

Coriolanus felt sure he’d spotted his first mockingjay, and he disliked the thing on sight.

“Some people just understand birds.” Coriolanus felt, unequivocally, that he would never be one of those people,

At any rate, he knew that he’d shoot her again if he had it all to do over, and somehow that supported the rightness of his actions.

All he had to do was destroy it, and he would be free from the hangman’s noose. Free to go back to the base. Free to go forward to District 2. Free to rejoin the human race without fear. Tears of relief flooded his eyes, and he began to laugh out of sheer joy. How would he do it? Burn it in a bonfire? Disassemble it and scatter the parts to the four winds? Throw it into the lake? Once the gun was gone, there’d be nothing to connect him to the murders. Absolutely nothing. No, wait. There would be one thing. Lucy Gray.

“Makes me sick how you’re playing the kids. Poor Lucy Gray. Poor lamb.” . . . and see her sinking her teeth into his hand. He thought about how coolly she’d killed in the arena. First that frail little Wovey; that was a cold-blooded move if he’d ever seen one. Then the calculated way she’d taken out Treech, baiting him to attack her, really, so she could whip that snake out of her pocket. And she claimed that Reaper had rabies, that it was a mercy kill, but who knew? No, Lucy Gray was no lamb. She was not made of sugar. She was a victor.

A patch of orange caught his eye, and he smiled. “I don’t want you to lose me,” she’d said. And he hadn’t. He pushed through the branches and into a small clearing canopied by trees. The orange scarf lay across some briars, where it had apparently blown loose and snagged as she fled. Oh, well. It confirmed he was on the right track. He went to retrieve it — maybe he’d keep it after all — when a faint rustle in the leaves pulled him up short. He’d just registered the snake when it struck, uncoiling like a spring and digging its teeth into the forearm extended toward the scarf. “Aa!” he screamed in pain. It released him immediately and slithered into the brush before he even had a chance to get a good look at it. Panic set in as he stared at the red, arched bite mark on his forearm. Panic and disbelief. Lucy Gray had tried to kill him! This was no coincidence. The trailing scarf. The poised snake. Maude Ivory had said she always knew where to find them. This was a booby trap, and he’d walked straight into it! Poor lamb, indeed!

He lifted the rifle and machine-gunned the trees, trying to wipe out the birds. Many fluttered into the sky, but the song had spread, and the woods were alive with it. “Lucy Gray! Lucy Gray!” Furious, he turned this way and that and finally blasted the woods in a full circle, going around and around until his bullets were spent. He collapsed on the ground, dizzy and nauseous, as the woods exploded, every bird of every kind screaming its head off while the mockingjays continued their rendition of “The Hanging Tree.” Nature gone mad. Genes gone bad. Chaos. He had to get out of there. His arm had begun to swell. He had to get back to the base. Forcing himself to his feet, he tramped back to the lake. Everything in the house remained as he had left it. At least he’d prevented her from getting back. Using a pair of his socks as gloves, he wiped off the murder weapon, crammed all the weapons back in the burlap bag, hoisted it over his shoulder, and ran to the lake. Judging it heavy enough to sink without being weighted down with rocks, he plunged into the lake and towed it out into deeper water. He submerged the bag and watched it spiral slowly down into the gloom.

now here’s the kicker: was it really the guns he dumped in the water or did he actually shoot lucy gray down and his brain couldn’t handle it so his memory latched onto the idea that he just dumped the pack of guns into the lake but it was actually lucy grays body he dumped…

Although he couldn’t help hoping that, as the dean drew his final breath, he’d realize what so many others had realized when they’d challenged him. What all of Panem would know one day. What was inevitable. Snow lands on top. THE END