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

by Suzanne Collins

He reached for the rose, but a thorn pierced his palm in the shaky exchange. Blood welled from the wound, and he held his hand out to keep it from staining his precious shirt. His grandmother seemed perplexed.

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

The District 12 girl? Could there be a bigger slap in the face? District 12, the smallest district, the joke district, with its stunted, joint-swollen kids that always died in the first five minutes, and not only that . . . but the girl? Not that a girl couldn’t win, but in his mind the Hunger Games were largely about brute force, and the girls were naturally smaller than the boys and therefore at a disadvantage.

“You matter to me, Lucy Gray,” he repeated.

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

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. “The mockingjay?” He laughed. “Really, I think you’re just making these things up.” “Not that one. A mockingjay’s a bona fide bird,” she assured him. “And it sings in your show?” he asked. “Not my show, sweetheart. Yours. The Capitol’s anyway,” said Lucy Gray. “I

But Lucy Gray was his tribute, headed into the arena. And even if the circumstances were different, she’d still be a girl from the districts, or at least not Capitol. A second-class citizen. Human, but bestial. Smart, perhaps, but not evolved. Part of a shapeless mass of unfortunate, barbaric creatures that hovered on the periphery of his consciousness.

>:(

“Assuming anything more, a physical, mental, or especially a moral superiority, would be a mistake. That sort of hubris almost finished us off in the war.” “Fascinating,” said Lucky, seemingly for lack of a better response. “Your views are absolutely fascinating.” “Thank you, Mr. Flickerman. I can think of no one whose opinion I value more,” deadpanned the dean.

and pining for the past.

Darlin... You sound a bit HYPOCRITICAL

Back when this had been North America, not Panem. It must have been fine. A land full of Capitols. Such a waste . . .

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

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.

Are you, are you Coming to the tree Where the dead man called out for his love to flee? Strange things did happen here No stranger would it be If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

“They’re designed to seek out forested areas and then are attracted to human voices. We’d release them into the woods in record mode, then retrieve them with a homing signal back at the base, where we’d analyze the recordings. Not just here, but in Districts Eleven, Nine, wherever we thought they’d be of value.”

THE BIRDS WORK FOR THE BOURGEOISIE

“We should kill them all.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. “Kill them all? Why?” said Dr. Kay in surprise. “They’re unnatural.” He tried to twist the comment so it sounded like it came from a bird lover.

Coriolanus’s bird began a tortured screaming the minute he touched it, and when he gave it a squeeze designed to dissuade it, it drove its beak into his palm. He reflexively dropped it, and in moments it had vanished into the foliage. Noxious creature.