Sunrise on the Reaping

“Yeah, force them to admit we’re people, too,” says Wyatt. “And they’re the beasts for killing us.”

“So you want to make them end the Hunger Games for good. How?” asks Maysilee.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “I guess, for starters, by reminding the audience that we’re human beings. The way they talk about us . . . piglets . . . beasts. They called my fingernails claws. You saw how those kids outside the gym looked at us. Like they think of us as animals. And they think of themselves as superior. So it’s okay to kill us. But the people in the Capitol aren’t better than us. Or smarter.”

As the train passes, she tilts her head back and wails her loss and rage into the wind. And even though it guts me, even though I smash my fists into the glass until they bruise, I’m grateful for her final gift. That she’s denied Plutarch the chance to broadcast our farewell.
The moment our hearts shattered? It belongs to us.

put a blanket or something over your head,” says Maysilee. “Or wake you if you’re really loud.”
“I forgot you’d be there,” says Wyatt. “I guess friends top my list, too. What else happens in training?”

“You snore,” I tell Wyatt.
“No, I don’t. I was fake-snoring on the train.”
“Bad news. You also real-snore.”

I have nothing to live for.” I say this without even a note of self-pity. I am simply stating a fact.

“Then you have nothing to lose. That puts you in a position of power.”

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

I go home before I remember I have no home

But the pump’s slow and your cistern’s dry.”

I’m the reason that cistern’s dry. Running off the morning of reaping day, leaving the chores to Sid. “My fault,” I mumble.

Ma and Sid are being burned alive