#and how district 11 sent her a gift after rues death

[loganlostitall]

Me right now explaining every single un-narrated thought happening in Katniss’ head binging The Hunger Games with @celtic-crossbow because l've read the books and she hasn't and there's a lot of small and important details that go unmentioned in the films

I haven’t shut up for five hours

[ellamikaelson]

Who was the most lucky and un-lucky person from The Hunger Games trilogy?

Why do you pick them? Please give reasons.

You can interpret the luck and un-luck thing however you want.

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your question!

For the luckiest I would like to think Gale. Now hear me out.

It’s not mentioned how but he knew how to trap wild animals and things after his father died. A gift no one had really in the district. His name was in the reaping bowl 42 times! And he never got picked yet peeta, who had 5, did. He only gets luckily caught with a turkey the day the new Peacekeepers come into D12. Anything more and they would have killed him on the spot. He lived close enough (roughly) to the fence and knew enough about the forest (obviously) to get out with others and guide them when Capitol bombed D12. And at the end of the mockingjay he still had all of his family (except his father obviously), a thing not many people had. At the end of the series, he moved to D2 and got a new job with Panems new government.

Now for unlucky, pretty basic but I’d think Katniss. I think everyone was unlucky, being sent to death matches and all, but this girl lost her father and in a way her mother, starved, had to raise herself and prim at 11, tribute in the Hunger Games not once, but twice, basically a pawn between two separate governments, a face of a rebellion she didn’t want at 17. She went through the trauma of losing Rue, watching her sister die at the hands of the Capitol, losing her best friend (gale), and at one point losing her lover and him trying to kill her. So yeah I’d think she had it pretty rough.

But thank you so so much for your question, I had so much fun answering it lovely!

[the-reading-circle]

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

My daughter was obsessed with this book (and sequels) when she was about 12. Although I was vaguely aware of the content I’m ashamed to say I didn’t read it at the time or even watch the films. As a mother and teacher I feel I should’ve read the book, if not to censor my daughter’s book choices, then at least to be able to discuss it with her.

I started reading this book after having read the short story ‘The Lottery’ (Jackson, 1948). The content and theme of this short story were both fascinating and shocking and reminded me of what I’d heard about ‘The Hunger Games’. Once I picked up the book, I could hardly put it down. Shocking, endearing, exciting, confusing and tragic. The story is set in a dystopian future where the rulers from the “Capitol” require two children from each of the districts to take part in the games – a fight to the death, orchestrated by the game-makers and watched by the entire nation. In many ways it is a classic story of good against evil. As I followed Katniss through the preparations and fight to survive, I was on the edge of my seat willing her to outsmart the other contestants. I was horrified at myself that I hoped the others would die, but it was the only way Katniss could survive. Outsmarting the game-makers was the icing on the cake!

Her father died in an accident, but not before teaching her to hunt and fend for herself; vital skills for survival. Her mother, ’with her dead eyes’ (p. 33) is emotionally absent and it is left to Katniss to provide for the family. Appleyard (1991) writes of the restrictions the adult world places upon adolescents in stories but in this case the adult world not only restricts but threatens their lives. The government, game-makers and population take pleasure in watching children fight. Even the adults who are supposed to help them are largely useless. Each time the children overcome a challenge, another is thrown at them. Adults have created a world of inequality where everyday survival is hard and then to make it even worse, they have created a survival game for children where the only way to survive is to kill others. The themes of inequality between rich and poor and suffering are woven into all aspects of the story, both before the games and in the arena. Even in the harsh fight for the survival in the arena, it is wealth (sponsorship and gifts) which keeps the children alive.

Katniss displays many of the characteristics of the traditional hero in pre-adolescent books and is the ‘central figure who by competence and initiative can solve the problems of a disordered world’ (Appleyard, 1991). She is strong, noble, clever, resourceful and caring. Yet her pride, whilst a strength, is a potential downfall and the underlying doubts and internal conflict about her relationship with Peeta (and Gale) form an undercurrent in the story also making the story appeal to the adolescent.

Cinna (the stylist) sees Katniss more clearly than she sees herself. He highlights her inner strength and connection to Peeta saying, “I want the audience to recognize you when you’re in the arena … Katniss, the girl who was on fire.” Katniss is in stage 5 (identity versus role confusion) of Erickson’s stages of development in which she starts to question her identity. ‘An identity crisis is a time of intensive analysis and exploration of different ways of looking at oneself’ (Appleyard, 1991). This includes the exploration of social relationships which we see in Katniss’s confused relationships with Peeta, Gale and Rue.

Despite the obviously violent and shocking premise of the storyline, I think this book is suitable for 12-15-year olds. There are three main things which adolescents find important in a book (Appleyard, 1991): Identification and involvement with the characters, realism and a story which makes them think. The Hunger Games includes all three. ‘Identification succeeds when the characters of adolescent novels match their readers' newfound sense of complexity, but do not exceed it. The chief difference from the characters of juvenile stories mis that the main characters of teenage fiction have inner lives. The reader has full access to their thoughts and feelings, their anxieties and self-questionings.’ (Appleyard, 1991). The story has great characters, lots of adventure and excitement, and ultimately a happy ending. The fact that the story is set in a world not dissimilar to our own makes it all the scarier. Yet there are moments of tenderness and tragedy. I cried when Rue died and when the ‘still warm loaf’ was sent to Katniss by the people of District 11. I was relieved when Foxface died accidentally as it meant both Katniss and Peeta had a chance without having to kill her. My heart broke for Peeta who so obviously adores Katniss.  

My own uneasy feeling about the book is mirrored in commentary made by others and the book was banned in some schools and libraries. Spiegler (2012) put it in perspective: ‘The violence itself, however, is not gratuitous and it is not celebrated. Quite the opposite. The violence is deconstructed, analyzed, and mourned by the lead characters. The book has a powerful anti-violence and anti-war message’. The book could be used as a catalyst for discussion on social responsibility with young people. Another interesting article I came across had a powerful message for encouraging young people to read the book: ‘Perhaps the main point of the novel is the main reason in truth why it is put up for banning. The novel talks about how you shouldn’t just blindly follow the government and that if something is wrong or unjust you should speak up against it.’ (Merrit, 2016)

Before researching the book I found it hard to justify a book where children have to kill each other, yet just like my daughter at the age of 12, I couldn’t put the book down. The younger child will read the book as an adventure where good overcomes evil and the older child will experience the theme, conflicts and outrage on a deeper level.

Bibliography

Appleyard, J.A. (1991). Becoming a Reader. Cambridge. Cambridge University Press

Collins, S. (2013). The Hunger Games. London, UK: Scolastic Ltd.

Jackson, S. (1948). The Lottery. USA: The New Yorker.

Mcleod, S. (2008, September 17). Erikson's Psychosocial Stages of Development. Retrieved January 27, 2019, from https://www.simplypsychology.org/Erik-Erikson.html

Merrit, M. (2016, February 18). 403 Forbidden: Banned Books. Retrieved February 28, 2019, from http://sites.psu.edu/bannedbookscmlit130/2016/02/18/hunger-games/

Spiegler, J. (2012, March 30). Should I Let My Ten-Year-Old Read The Hunger Games? | Morningside Center for Teaching Social Responsibility. Retrieved February 28, 2019, from https://www.morningsidecenter.org/teachable-moment/lessons/should-i-let-my-ten-year-old-read-hunger-games

[cataclysmicrp]

HEATHER LEVESQUE | 78TH HUNGER GAMES VICTOR | TAKEN

TRAITS:

+ Determined, Observant, Resourceful - Perfectionist, Bears Grudges, Prideful

BIOGRAPHY:

TW: Death

Heather was popular as a child, at least amongst the people of her zone in 11. She had a remarkable set of talents that drew the attention of many. Her singing and dancing captivated other children, teachers, even a few Peacekeepers. She was showered with attention and sometimes even gifts, from the few who could afford them. However, this made her arrogant, and when she started school, she had few friends. Her constant companion was a girl named Elayne, who had short, cropped hair. They’d been friends ever since they were in diapers and she was the one to knock some sense into Heather so that she would stop queening over everyone. After that, she gained more friends, though she wasn’t as popular as she was before.

Her parents shielded her from the existence of the Hunger Games as long as they could. Evading questions about people disappearing, or why Cousin Jerome never came around anymore. However, when Phoebe turned 12, her parents decided to tell her. As she was just 7, she had just started school and hadn’t learnt about the Dark Days or the rebellion just yet. However, the night before Phoebe went to sign up for her tesseraes, her parents did their best to explain what the Hunger Games were, and how Phoebe might be involved. Heather didn’t really understand the concept of death, but she knew she didn’t want her sister to be taken away from her forever. That night, she crawled into Phoebe’s bed and snuggled into her arms. “You can’t go away. You’re staying here with me forever,” she murmured, deciding that she would fight anyone who would dare lay a finger on her sister. Ever since then she had always dreaded Reaping Day. She always held her breath as she prayed that the name on the paper was anyone’s but Phoebe’s. It never was. Even after being told about the Hunger Games, her parents forbade her from watching it. She was sent out of the room whenever it played on the TV, and she was instructed to not watch the TVs at school when they played it during the breaks. For a while, she dutifully followed their orders. However, it all changed when the 74th Hunger Games came. Everyone at school was talking about it, so were her parents and her sister, though they would always change the subject whenever she came into the room. Curiosity got the better of her and she demanded Elayne to tell her what was so special about that year’s games. After that, she watched the games obsessively, at school or at the village square. This was a chance to change their lives. This might be it. She could do it.

When Katniss and Peeta came to 11 during their Victory Tour, she knew that they were telling them to stand up and fight. They were telling them that they couldn’t sit quietly anymore. Their lives were not just the Capitol’s play-things. They were not Snow’s play-things. Rue’s life must not be in vain. When the Third Quarter Quell was announced, Heather was more than devastated. She was angry. How dare he try to take their hope away from them. Anyone could see that the Third Quarter Quell was Snow’s last-ditch attempt to quell the uprisings. But he would fail. That was for sure. The people were angry, and they were ready to fight. He was powerless when Katniss lit the spark, for the flames spread too fast and too far. The Mockingjay’s fire empowered all of them, giving them courage and chasing away their fears. They would stand. They would fight. And they would succeed.

Her parents, angry as they were, knew that they had to prioritize their children first. They did not fight back directly, however, they did help the revolution in small ways. Her father helped sneak food to District 13. Her mother, though small and meek, bravely stood up against the Peacekeepers when they went after the small children in the village. Phoebe helped cover for other workers when they snuck off to strategize and carry out plans. Heather used her talent for climbing trees to look out for Peacekeepers, whistling specific tunes to warn others to get back to work when she saw them approaching. Throughout the whole rebellion, she stayed in District 11, protecting her home and the ones she loved.

Or so she thought.

She was so stupid. She was so naïve. She was a complete idiot to think that Coin would change things. Coin took them in completely, promising equality and peace. She promised them a better life, but all she wanted was Snow’s power. She was good at keeping up her façade though. She provided medical care, more food, and clean water to 11. She helped rebuild their homes that were ravaged by war. She seemed so kind. She justified the Capitol Games as revenge, the Victors Games as a safety measure. At first, it seemed smart. In hindsight, it was such an obvious sign that Coin was just securing her position. Back in 11, Heather could see the weariness come back in people’s faces as she walked around in town. They knew they had made a mistake. But now, they didn’t have the power nor the courage to fight back. District 13 had come up with most of the operations, and provided them with the weapons. The Mockingjay had given them hope. They knew, they knew, but no one said anything. How could they? The Peacekeepers, of whom many were from 13, were still in 11, spying on them, making sure they were still loyal to Coin. District 13 had infiltrated every part of their homes, their lives. It was welcomed at first, but back then they were on the same side. Now though, now, Heather could see that things had changed, in the hardened gaze of the once-friendly Peacekeeper Bruce, and the hopelessness in eyes of her teacher Ms Honey, who had helped fight in the riots and a missing hand to prove it. When Coin announced the return of the Games, everyone cried, but no one was really surprised. Their lives retuned to as they were before. Before the fire still burned hot in people’s hearts. Before the girl on fire lit the flame. Before Katniss Everdeen pulled out those berries out of love, and only love.

When Heather turned 12, her parents forbade her from taking any tesseraes. However, the year after she had to take them, lest her family starve like they did the previous year. The year after, she took the tesseraes again, only this time, this time she wasn’t as lucky.

She remembered the stillness of the world seconds after her name was called. It was as if time had stopped. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Then a shriek pierced the silence. “No! NO! You can’t take her! Please!” Towards her right, she saw a scuffle break out as Peacekeepers held her sister back. “Take me! Take me instead!” But they couldn’t. They couldn’t take her because she was 19 now and she couldn’t go and so Heather had to go Heatherhadtogoshehadtoleaveshewasgoingtodie- Clenching her jaw, Heather marched up the podium, resolutely ignoring her sister’s cries and her parents’ quiet sobs. Her heart pounded as she stood stock still on the stage. She could barely register what was going on around her, but something pulled her out of her head. A name called. His name called. She bit her lip as her best friend’s brother, Evan, took his place beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two burly Peacekeepers tackle Elayne to the ground as they had done to Phoebe. After that, she kept her eyes on the ground until they were out of the public eye.

That year, the tributes were greeted with a desert wasteland. The dry cracks in the ground suddenly made her own mouth feel dry and parched. The sweltering heat from the white sun beat down her. Heather had already started sweating in her tight shirt and leggings. The cornucopia glinted blindingly in the sunlight in the middle of the circle of tributes. The space between the tributes and the cornucopia was strewn with weapons, supply packs, and most importantly, water. Four one-gallon bottles of water stood right at the mouth of the cornucopia. Small one litre bottles of water were scattered around elsewhere. From what Heather could see, there were only three measly bottles. The moment the gong sounded, Heather snatched up the bag closest to her and tried to grab one of those few precious bottles of water, but another tribute shoved her out of the way and ran off with it. Knowing the Careers would be after her, she quickly scrambled to her feet and ran as far as she could away from the cornucopia. The flat expanse of sand and dirt provided no cover from anyone at all. All she could do was to keep running. Fortunately, she was a fast runner and about two hours later, she couldn’t see any other tributes around her. As she ran, she noticed the scenery changing slightly. Bigger rocks began to appear more frequently, and she had to watch her step. After inspecting some of the rocks for water, she found an entrance leading to an underground tunnel. There were tunnels running below the surface and the entrances were concealed by strategically placed rocks. Small underground ponds were the only other sources of water. However, vicious rats and giant scorpions ran rampant in the tunnels. Pits of quicksand were spread throughout the whole arena both above and underground. Heather survived by being stealthy enough to follow the rats to sources of water. Within the first week, half of the tributes were dead due to dehydration. By then, the Careers had also hunted down several tributes, increasing the death count. By the second week, only four Careers, Heather and Evan were left. Heather had not encountered Evan at all in the arena. Back when they were in training, she had thought that he would want to be allies, but he never brought it up, and so neither did she. She didn’t want them to be the last two anyway. Maybe one of the Careers might kill him or herself before they were forced to fight each other. Heather knew that the Careers were hunting her down, so she got herself ready for it. When they found her, she led them down a tunnel she had concealed beforehand. Some areas of the tunnel were completely covered in quicksand, but as she had scouted the area before, she knew where to step. Unfortunately, the Careers did not. With the Careers stuck in the quicksand, she threw knives at them while hidden in the shadows. She didn’t wait to see if the knives had killed them completely, escaping through another tunnel. Later that day, she heard three cannons. Not even a day after, the Gamemakers sent giant serpents after the remaining three, Heather, Evan and the girl from 2, forcing them into a small tight cave with a dead end. A minute later, Evan’s torch, the only source of light, died, and they were plunged into complete darkness. Heather had a torch in her bag but she was too afraid to let her guard down for even a second in the dark. Blindly, she stabbed her dagger at anything and everything. She had just driven her dagger hard into something when suddenly, the hissing of the snakes stopped. She could hear two people breathing heavily, but she didn’t sense any movement around her.

“Heather,” a familiar voice rasped. Her head turned towards the source of the sound. Quickly, she tore her torch out of her bag and shone it towards her right. Evan was lying on the ground in front of her. Only. Only. Only there was a dagger sticking out of his belly. Her dagger.

Heather’s victory in the Games was no victory at all. She won by killing her best friend’s brother. Coin might as well kill her too; she didn’t want to live anymore.

Heather became a shell of what she once was. She turned mute. The only times she talked were in her sleep. Nightmares haunted her for months after the games. Her eyes, once bright and alert, had turned a dull black. She didn’t seem to see or register what was going on around her. Her body seemed to cave in on itself. Her passionate spirit had been completely extinguished. She couldn’t feel, wouldn’t feel. Because feeling meant acknowledging that she killed him. She killed him. And so she went numb. She didn’t know how to face she could face anyone when she got back to 11 during her Victory Tour. She didn’t know if she could face Elayne. When she was presented to her district as the Victor, there was no cheering, no shouting. Everyone looked so, so tired. There was no revolution. Year after year they would have to send their children to die because they failed. Her family left her alone. They couldn’t imagine what she was going through. They brought her food, made sure she was clean, and tried to make her life as comfortable as possible. Heather felt like a prisoner trapped within her own mind. She felt like she was just waiting for death to come take her. Preferably sooner rather than later. However, after months in solitude, she grew more and more antsy. How was it possible to feel both alive and dead at the same time? It was a sickening feeling, with the desire to get out and run away burning through her veins, only to be stopped by her sluggish limbs. Heather desperately wished she was back in the orchards of District 11. High up in the trees, with the mockingjays as her only company. Singing freely and then hearing the same melody repeated and overlapped again and again. The cold wind blowing across her face and the enticing smells of pine and cinnamon and cloves and-

She stopped her train of thought before she could start bawling again.

Faceclaim: China Anne McClain

[readbookywooks]

5. The man has only just crumpled to the ground when a wall of white Peacekeeper uniforms blocks our view. Several of the soldiers have automatic weapons held lengthwise as they push us back toward the door. "We're going!" says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who's pressing on me. "We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss." His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers follow a pace or two behind us. The moment we're inside, the doors slam shut and we hear the Peacekeepers' boots moving back toward the crowd. Haymitch, Effie, Portia, and Cinna wait under a static-filled screen that's mounted on the wall, their faces tight with anxiety. "What happened?" Effie hurries over. "We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!" "Nothing happened, Effie. An old truck backfired," says Peeta evenly. Two more shots. The door doesn't muffle their sound much. Who was that? Thresh's grandmother? One of Rue's little sisters? "Both of you. With me," says Haymitch. Peeta and I follow him, leaving the others behind. The Peacekeepers who are stationed around the Justice Building take little interest in our movements now that we are safely inside. We ascend a magnificent curved marble staircase. At the top, there's a long hall with worn carpet on the floor. Double doors stand open, welcoming us into the first room we encounter. The ceiling must be twenty feet high. Designs of fruit and flowers are carved into the molding and small, fat children with wings look down at us from every angle. Vases of blossoms give off a cloying scent that makes my eyes itch. Our evening clothes hang on racks against the wall. This room has been prepared for our use, but we're barely there long enough to drop off our gifts. Then Haymitch yanks the microphones from our chests, stuffs them beneath a couch cushion, and waves us on. As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staircases and increasingly narrow halls. At times he has to stop and force a door. By the protesting squeak of the hinges you can tell it's been a long time since it was opened. Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. It's a huge place filled with broken furniture, piles of books and ledgers, and rusty weapons. The coat of dust blanketing everything is so thick it's clear it hasn't been disturbed for years. Light struggles to filter in through four grimy square windows set in the sides of the dome. Haymitch kicks the trapdoor shut and turns on us. "What happened?" he asks. Peeta relates all that occurred in the square. The whistle, the salute, our hesitation on the verandah, the murder of the old man. "What's going on, Haymitch?" "It will be better coming from you," Haymitch says to me. I don't agree. I think it will be a hundred times worse coming from me. But I tell Peeta everything as calmly as I can. About President Snow, the unrest in the districts. I don't even omit the kiss with Gale. I lay out how we are all in jeopardy, how the whole country is in jeopardy because of my trick with the berries. "I was supposed to fix things on this tour. Make everyone who had doubted believe I acted out of love. Calm things down. But obviously, all I've done today is. get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished." I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. "Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money," says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. "This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I'm too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them." "It's not like that, Peeta - " I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. "I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don't pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don't I even rate the truth from you?" "You're always so reliably good, Peeta," says Haymitch. "So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn't want to disrupt that." "Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today. What do you think is going to happen to Rue's and Thresh's families? Do you think they'll get their share of our winnings? Do you think I gave them a bright future? Because I think they'll be lucky if they survive the day!" Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I've never seen him like this. "He's right, Haymitch," I say. "We were wrong not to tell him. Even back in the Capitol." "Even in the arena, you two had some sort of system worked out, didn't you?" asks Peeta. His voice is quieter now. "Something I wasn't part of." "No. Not officially. I just could tell what Haymitch wanted me to do by what he sent, or didn't send," I say. "Well, I never had that opportunity. Because he never sent me anything until you showed up," says Peeta. I haven't thought much about this. How it must have looked from Peeta's perspective when I appeared in the arena having received burn medicine and bread when he, who was at death's door, had gotten nothing. Like Haymitch was keeping me alive at his expense. "Look, boy - " Haymitch begins. "Don't bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I'd have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we're very good. We all know I'm better than Katniss in front of the cameras. No one needs to coach me on what to say. But I have to know what I'm walking into," says Peeta. "From now on, you'll be fully informed," Haymitch promises. "I better be," says Peeta. He doesn't even bother to look at me before he leaves. The dust he disrupted billows up and looks for new places to land. My hair, my eyes, my shiny gold pin. "Did you choose me, Haymitch?" I ask. "Yeah," he says. "Why? You like him better," I say. "That's true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive," he says. "I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home." "Oh" is all I can think to say. "You'll see, the choices you'll have to make. If we survive this," says Haymitch. "You'll learn." Well, I've learned one thing today. This place is not a larger version of District 12. Our fence is unguarded and rarely charged. Our Peacekeepers are unwelcome but less brutal. Our hardships evoke more fatigue than fury. Here in 11, they suffer more acutely and feel more desperation. President Snow is right. A spark could be enough to set them ablaze. Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances ... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? "Come on. We've got a dinner to attend," says Haymitch. I stand in the shower as long as they let me before I have to come out to be readied. The prep team seems oblivious to the events of the day. They're all excited about the dinner. In the districts they're important enough to attend, whereas back in the Capitol they almost never score invitations to prestigious parties. While they try to predict what dishes will be served, I keep seeing the old man's head being blown off. I don't even pay attention to what anyone is doing to me until I'm about to leave and I see myself in the mirror. A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. "Like it?" "It's beautiful. As always," I say. "Let's see how it looks with a smile," he says gently. It's his reminder that in a minute, there will be cameras again. I manage to raise the corners of my lips. "There we go." When we all assemble to go down to the dinner, I can see Effie is out of sorts. Surely, Haymitch hasn't told her about what happened in the square. I wouldn't be surprised if Cinna and Portia know, but there seems to be an unspoken agreement to leave Effie out of the bad-news loop. It doesn't take long to hear about the problem, though. Effie runs through the evening's schedule, then tosses it aside. "And then, thank goodness, we can all get on that train and get out of here," she says. "Is something wrong, Effie?" asks Cinna. "I don't like the way we've been treated. Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know," she says. "Oh, yes, I've heard that," says Portia before the pause gets too long. "So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!" says Effie. I can't help thinking this is the direct result of Haymitch, Peeta, and me disappearing earlier in the day. It's a little reassuring, actually, to think that Haymitch might have been right. That no one would have been monitoring the dusty dome where we talked. Although I bet they are now. Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. "That's awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn't go to the dinner at all. At least until they've apologized." I know she'll never agree to this, but she brightens considerably at the suggestion, at the validation of her complaint. "No, I'll manage. It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner," she says. "But thank you for the offer, Katniss." Effie arranges us in formation for our entrance. First the prep teams, then her, the stylists, Haymitch. Peeta and I, of course, bring up the rear. Somewhere below, musicians begin to play. As the first wave of our little procession begins down the steps, Peeta and I join hands. "Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions," says Peeta. "And it isn't as if I haven't kept things from you in the past." I remember the shock of hearing Peeta confess his love for me in front of all of Panem. Haymitch had known about that and not told me. "I think I broke a few things myself after that interview." "Just an urn," he says. "And your hands. There's no point to it anymore, though, is there? Not being straight with each other?" I say. "No point," says Peeta. We stand at the top of the stairs, giving Haymitch a fifteen-step lead as Effie directed. "Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?" I'm so startled I answer. "Yes." With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? "That's fifteen. Let's do it," he says. A light hits us, and I put on the most dazzling smile I can. We descend the steps and are sucked into what becomes an indistinguishable round of dinners, ceremonies, and train rides. Each day it's the same. Wake up. Get dressed. Ride through cheering crowds. Listen to a speech in our honor. Give a thank-you speech in return, but only the one the Capitol gave us, never any personal additions now. Sometimes a brief tour: a glimpse of the sea in one district, towering forests in another, ugly factories, fields of wheat, stinking refineries. Dress in evening clothes. Attend dinner. Train. During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having. Even without our personal speeches to trigger dissent - needless to say the ones we gave in District 11 were edited out before the event was broadcast - you can feel something in the air, the rolling boil of a pot about to run over. Not everywhere. Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors' ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. When they chant my name, it is more of a cry for vengeance than a cheer. When the Peacekeepers move in to quiet an unruly crowd, it presses back instead of retreating. And I know that there's nothing I could ever do to change this. No show of love, however believable, will turn this tide. If my holding out those berries was an act of temporary insanity, then these people will embrace insanity, too. Cinna begins to take in my clothes around the waist. The prep team frets over the circles under my eyes. Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don't work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other's arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment. Nothing else happens, but our arrangement quickly becomes a subject of gossip on the train. When Effie brings it up to me, I think, Good. Maybe it will get back to President Snow. I tell her we'll make an effort to be more discreet, but we don't. The back-to-back appearances in 2 and 1 are their own special kind of awful. Cato and Clove, the tributes from District 2, might have both made it home if Peeta and I hadn't. I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? I suppose that before the Games I didn't pay attention, and afterward I didn't want to know. By the time we reach the Capitol, we are desperate. We make endless appearances to adoring crowds. There is no danger of an uprising here among the privileged, among those whose names are never placed in the reaping balls, whose children never die for the supposed crimes committed generations ago. We don't need to convince anybody in the Capitol of our love but hold to the slim hope that we can still reach some of those we failed to convince in the districts. Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I'm the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. "I thought he wanted it, anyway," I say. "Not like this," Haymitch says. "He wanted it to be real." I go back to my room and lie under the covers, trying not to think of Gale and thinking of nothing else. That night, on the stage before the Training Center, we bubble our way through a list of questions. Caesar Flickerman, in his twinkling midnight blue suit, his hair, eyelids, and lips still dyed powder blue, flawlessly guides us through the interview. When he asks us about the future, Peeta gets down on one knee, pours out his heart, and begs me to marry him. I, of course, accept. Caesar is beside himself, the Capitol audience is hysterical, shots of crowds around Panem show a country besotted with happiness. President Snow himself makes a surprise visit to congratulate us. He clasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He embraces me, enfolding me in the smell of blood and roses, and plants a puffy kiss on my cheek. When he pulls back, his fingers digging into my arms, his face smiling into mine, I dare to raise my eyebrows. They ask what my lips can't. Did I do it? Was it enough? Was giving everything over to you, keeping up the game, promising to marry Peeta enough? In answer, he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head.