Mocking Jay

Today we will execute Snow. In the previous weeks, hundreds of his accomplices in the oppression of Panem
have been tried and now await their own deaths. However, the suffering in the districts has been so extreme that
these measures appear insufficient to the victims. In fact, many are calling for a complete annihilation of those
who held Capitol citizenship. However, in the interest of maintaining a sustainable population, we cannot afford
this."
Through the water in the glass, I see a distorted image of one of Peeta's hands. The burn marks. We are
both fire mutts now. My eyes travel up to where the flames licked across his forehead, singeing away his brows
but just missing his eyes. Those same blue eyes that used to meet mine and then flit away at school. Just as they
do now.
"So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it
has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain
from the vote," says Coin. "What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population,
we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using the children directly related to those who held the most power."
All seven of us turn to her. "What?" says Johanna.
"We hold another Hunger Games using Capitol children," says Coin.
"Are you joking?" asks Peeta.
"No. I should also tell you that if we do hold the Games, it will be known it was done with your approval,
although the individual breakdown of your votes will be kept secret for your own security," Coin tells us.
"Was this Plutarch's idea?" asks Haymitch.
"It was mine," says Coin. "It seemed to balance the need for vengeance with the least loss of life. You may
cast your votes."
"No!" bursts out Peeta. "I vote no, of course! We can't have another Hunger Games!"
"Why not?" Johanna retorts. "It seems very fair to me. Snow even has a granddaughter. I vote yes."
"So do I," says Enobaria, almost indifferently. "Let them have a taste of their own medicine."
"This is why we rebelled! Remember?" Peeta looks at the rest of us. "Annie?"
"I vote no with Peeta," she says. "So would Finnick if he were here."
"But he isn't, because Snow's mutts killed him," Johanna reminds her.
"No," says Beetee. "It would set a bad precedent. We have to stop viewing one another as enemies. At this
point, unity is essential for our survival. No."
"We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin.
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 weigh my options carefully, think everything through. Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, "I vote yes...for
Prim."
"Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin.
A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch
watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly
understands me.
"I'm with the Mockingjay," he says.
"Excellent. That carries the vote," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution."
As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his
heart?"
Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games."
"Thank you," I say.
People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I'm
guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The
others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin
has appeared on the balcony. Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my
position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait.
When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is
unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training