Sunrise on the Reaping

There is no one to comfort, to ease out of this world. Ampert’s been swallowed up by the Capitol, and his coffin will hold only these pearly white bones.

A cannon fires.

Somewhere, Beetee’s heart breaks into fragments so small it can never be repaired. Mine pounds like a drum as a wave of rage surges into it.

Fire is catching, she’d say, but if this one burns down the arena, I say good riddance.

The snow may fall, but the sun also rises.