Catching Fire (The Hunger Games, #2)

by Suzanne Collins

“It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it down.”

I think how much Peeta will like the color.

In that one slight motion, I see the end of hope, the beginning of the destruction of everything I hold dear in the world.

“Thanks,” I say. Because I can count on my fingers the number of sunsets I have left, and I don’t want to miss any of them.

As I drift off, I try to imagine that world, somewhere in the future, with no Games, no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song I sang to Rue as she died. Where Peeta’s child could be safe.

Right before the explosions begin, I find a star.

The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. The one that survived despite the Capitol’s plans. The symbol of the rebellion.