Mockingjay (The Hunger Games, #3)

by Suzanne Collins

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.

“But that kind of thinking . . . you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line,” I say. “I don’t buy that,” he tells me. “I do,” I reply. “It must be those trips to the arena.”

“Yes. And if I could grow wings, I could fly. Only people can’t grow wings,” he says. “Real or not real?” “Real,” I say. “But people don’t need wings to survive.” “Mockingjays do.” He finishes the soup and returns the can to me.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers. “Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

I’m running on hate. When the energy for that ebbs, I’ll be worthless.

Only Peeta doesn’t offer an opinion. “What do you think, Peeta?” I finally ask him. “I think . . . you still have no idea. The effect you can have.” He slides his cuffs up the support and pushes himself to a sitting position. “None of the people we lost were idiots. They knew what they were doing. They followed you because they believed you really could kill Snow.”

Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Fire burns brighter in the darkness.

We both know I’m not above killing children, but I’m not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children. None at all.”

But I wasn’t watching Coin. I was watching you, Mockingjay. And you were watching me. I’m afraid we have both been played for fools.”