There. He’s done it again. Dropped a bomb that wipes out the efforts of every tribute who came before him.
Well, maybe not. Maybe this year he has only lit the fuse on a bomb that the victors themselves have been building. Hoping someone would be able to detonate it. Perhaps thinking it would be me in my bridal gown. Not knowing how much I rely on Cinna’s talents, whereas
Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts’ children? The scent of Snow’s rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now.
“I was born with a chip that makes me feel that a woman can preach, a woman can work, a woman can fight, a woman can build, can rule, can conquer, can destroy just as much as a man can. We just need to be…not given the opportunity, we just need to take our place, it’s always been there.”