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

by Suzanne Collins

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?

Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with the creation of the Hunger Games,

“And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

Capitol News. With their omnipresent coverage and their saucy slogan, “If you didn’t see it here, it didn’t happen.”

he did sufficiently well in genetic manipulation to have landed a spot in the class.

Being a hero at home had its limitations; he needed a larger audience.

Coriolanus, along with several people around him, automatically crossed off the name of the girl from District 10. But then what? It would make sense to cross off Arachne’s name as well, but that felt different. His pen hovered over her name and then left it alone for the moment. It seemed pretty cold to scratch her off the list like that.

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

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

In an attempt to raise morale, the Capitol had proclaimed December 15th National Heroes Day.

Star-crossed lovers meeting their fate. A revenge story turned in on itself. A war saga that took no prisoners.

“Do you hear that, Coriolanus? It’s the sound of Snow falling.”

Back when this had been North America, not Panem.

“We pour money into our industries, not into the districts themselves,” said Sejanus. “The people are on their own.”

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

Dr. Gaul could go on all she wanted about engaging people in the Hunger Games, but if practically no one in the districts had a working television, the impact would be confined to the reaping, when everyone gathered in public.

Drawing close, he took in the song she sang as she quietly strummed her guitar. Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where they strung up a man they say murdered three? Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

but something about the mockingjays repelled him. He distrusted their spontaneous creation. Nature running amok. They should die out, and die out soon.