Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3)

by Suzanne Collins

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

To murder innocent people?” says Peeta. “It costs everything you are.”

“Katniss . . . he’s still trying to keep you alive.”

“I’m going to be the Mockingjay.”

In some ways, District 13 is even more controlling than the Capitol.

I’m still betting on you.

already she wears a look of consternation. And I know it’s not a result of seeing abused bodies, because they were her daily fare in District 12, but the realization that this sort of thing goes on in 13 as well.

“I think you’d be pretty in any color.”

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

“People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!”

“And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies.”

For a second, I’m afraid he’s dying. I have to remind myself that I don’t care.

“I can’t believe you didn’t rescue Peeta.”

“I can’t believe you let him out of your sight that night,”

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

I decide to go ahead and like Boggs.

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.

I was their Mockingjay long before I accepted the role.

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

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

“I didn’t think you’d remember that,” I say. “Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then,”

“I knew you’d kiss me.” “How?” I say. Because I didn’t know myself. “Because I’m in pain,” he says. “That’s the only way I get your attention.” He picks up the box. “Don’t worry, Katniss. It’ll pass.” He leaves before I can answer.

Whatever the opposite of fine is, that’s what I am.

Maybe I’m even having a heart attack, but it doesn’t seem worth mentioning.

“If he does, he won’t have anyone left you want. He won’t have any way to hurt you.”

I knew I’d misjudged you. That you do love him. I’m not saying in what way. Maybe you don’t know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him,”

“How do you bear it?” Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.”

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

Gale can think whatever he wants.

Snow will ensure that his life is much worse than death.

But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too.

I reach out for him and say something like his name and he’s there, holding me and patting my back. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

We’re going to try to get Peeta out.”

“So who else volunteered?” “I think there were seven altogether,” he says evasively. I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Who else, Haymitch?” I insist. Haymitch finally drops the good-natured act. “You know who else, Katniss. You know who stepped up first.” Of course I do. Gale.

“When I met Peeta, I was eleven years old, and I was almost dead.”

“You don’t have to do this.” “Yes, I do. If it will help her.”

“And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow,” says Finnick. “Such a young man when he rose to power.

Poison. The perfect weapon for a snake.

Making knots. Making knots. No word. Making knots. Tick-tock. This is a clock. Do not think of Gale. Do not think of Peeta. Making knots. We do not want dinner. Fingers raw and bleeding.

“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” I ask. “No.” A long time passes before he adds, “She crept up on me.”

For someone to make Peeta forget he loves me . . . no one could do that.

But . . . I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”

I can only manage to hold on to one simple thought: an image of Snow’s face accompanied by the whisper in my head. I will kill you.

This is what they’ve been doing. Taking the fundamental ideas behind Gale’s traps and adapting them into weapons against humans. Bombs mostly. It’s less about the mechanics of the traps than the psychology behind them. Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival. A water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater destruction. Endangering offspring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent. Luring the victim into what appears to be a safe haven — where death awaits it.

At some point, Gale and Beetee left the wilderness behind and focused on more human impulses. Like compassion. A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well.

“I guess there isn’t a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being.”

Not only does he hate me and want to kill me, he no longer believes I’m human. It was less painful being strangled.

Sometimes when I’m alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.

“I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass.” “What’d you think?” I ask. “Something selfish,” says Gale.

“I don’t stand a chance if he doesn’t get better. You’ll never be able to let him go. You’ll always feel wrong about being with me.” “The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you,” I say. Gale holds my gaze. “If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it.” “It is true,” I admit. “But so is what you said about Peeta.”