Sunrise on the Reaping

I didn’t want to let them in, her and Peeta, but the walls of a person’s heart are not impregnable, not if they have ever known love. That’s what Lenore Dove says, anyway.

And so I remain, forever trapped in my chamber.
I am so desperate to forget. To escape the grief, the aching loneliness, the loss of those I love.

I would like to kill him at that moment, but what would be the point? Instead, I say, “You think you’re a good person, don’t you, Plutarch? You think you’re a good guy because you told me about the sun and the berms. When what you really did is help create the Capitol’s propaganda and broadcast it to the country. Forty-nine kids died for it, but you gave it the old Heavensbee spin and, in that propo, you’re some kind of hero.”
Plutarch takes a moment to answer. “I’m nobody’s idea of a hero, Haymitch. But at least I’m still in the game.”

The raven. The unforgiving songbird. Repeatedly reminding me of President Snow’s crystal-clear message to me on my homecoming. That I will never get to love anyone ever again. Nevermore. Because he will make sure they end up dying a horrible death.

Well, the symbolism has been lost on no one. Even the little kids in the Seam know the Capitol powers are watching us.
I wonder if they ever consider that we’re watching them, too.

The Gamemakers must have been scrambling like crazy to control the narrative by this point. Whatever the case, the audience here in the auditorium has embraced this version, cheering and jeering on cue. Their lack of discernment transforms the recap, validating it as truth. I hope those in the districts can still see it as the piece of propaganda it is, but no telling what they’ve been fed.

The arena leaves no time to properly grieve anyone and I’m left feeling cheated, shallow, and coldhearted. Louella, Ampert, Maysilee, everybody deserves far better. I just can’t generate it.

Good-bye, Maysilee Donner, who I loathed, then grudgingly respected, then loved. Not as a sweetheart or even a friend. A sister, I’d said. But what is that exactly? I think about our journey — everything from sniping with her in those early days after the reaping to battling those pink birds. I guess that’s my answer. A sister is someone you fight with and fight for. Tooth and nail.

She hasn’t begged or pleaded; she retained her fury and defiance. Although for me, a person’s desperation at the end is not a measure of their life, I know it mattered to her.

How do I know? I feel like I constantly demonstrate poor judgment.