Catching Fire 6

My hair stands on end and the lightning strikes the tree.

A flash of white runs up the wire, and for just a moment, the dome bursts into a dazzling blue light. I'm thrown backward to the ground, body useless, paralyzed, eyes frozen wide, as feathery bits of matter rain down on me. I can't reach Peeta. I can't even reach my pearl. My eyes strain to capture one last image of beauty to take with me.

Right before the explosions begin, I find a star.

Everything seems to erupt at once. The earth explodes into showers of dirt and plant matter. Trees burst into flames. Even the sky fills with brightly colored blossoms of light. I can't think why the sky's being bombed until I realize the Gamemakers are shooting off fireworks up there, while the real destruction occurs on the ground...

The hovercraft materializes above me without warning. If it was quiet, and a mockingjay perched close at hand, I would have heard the jungle go silent and then the bird's call that precedes the appearance of the Capitol's aircraft. But my ears could never make out anything so delicate in this bombardment.

The claw drops from the underside until it's directly overhead. The metal talons slide under me. I want to scream, run, smash my way out of it but I'm frozen, helpless to do anything but fervently hope I'll die before I reach the shadowy figures awaiting me above. They have not spared my life to crown me victor but to make my death as slow and public as possible.

My worst fears are confirmed when the face that greets me inside the hovercraft belongs to Plutarch Heavensbee, Head Gamemaker. What a mess I have made of his beautiful Games with the clever ticking clock and the field of victors. He will suffer for his failure, probably lose his life, but not before he sees me punished. His hand reaches for me, I think to strike me, but he does something worse. With his thumb and his forefinger, he slides my eyelids shut, sentencing me to the vulnerability of darkness. They can do anything to me now and I will not even see it coming.

My heart pounds so hard the blood begins to stream from beneath my soaked moss bandage. My thoughts grow foggy. Possibly I can bleed to death before they can revive me after all. In my mind, I whisper a thank-you to Johanna Mason for the excellent wound she inflicted as I black out.

When I swim back into semi consciousness, I can feel I'm lying on a padded table. There's the pinching sensation of tubes in my left arm. They are trying to keep me alive because, if I slide quietly, privately into death, it will be a victory. I'm still largely unable to move, open my eyelids, raise my head. But my right arm has regained a little motion. It flops across my body, feeling like a flipper, no, something less animated, like a club. I have no real motor coordination, no proof that I even still have fingers. Yet I manage to swing my arm around until I rip the tubes out. A beeping goes off but I can't stay awake to find out who it will summon.

The next time I surface, my hands are tied down to the table, the tubes back in my arm. I can open my eyes and lift my head slightly, though. I'm in a large room with low ceilings and a silvery light. There are two rows of beds facing each other. I can hear the breathing of what I assume are my fellow victors. Directly across from me I see Beetee with about ten different machines hooked up to him. Just let us die! I scream in my mind. I slam my head back hard on the table and go out again...

“Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?” says Haymitch, the annoyance clear in his voice. But as I careen forward he steps up and catches my wrists, steadying me. He looks at my hand. “So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.” I stare at him uncomprehendingly. “Drop it.” I feel the pressure increase on my right wrist until my hand is forced to open and I release the syringe. He settles me in a chair next to Finnick.

Plutarch puts a bowl of broth in front of me. A roll. Slips a spoon into my hand. “Eat,” he says in a much kinder voice than Haymitch used.

Haymitch sits directly in front of me. “Katniss, I'm going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?”

I nod numbly. And this is what he tells me.

There was a plan to break us out of the arena from the moment the Quell was announced. The victor tributes from 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 11 had varying degrees of knowledge about it. Plutarch Heavensbee has been, for several years, part of an undercover group aiming to overthrow the Capitol. He made sure the wire was among the weapons. Beetee was in charge of blowing a hole in the force field. The bread we received in the arena was code for the time of the rescue. The district where the bread originated indicated the day. Three. The number of rolls the hour. Twenty-four. The hovercraft belongs to District 13. Bonnie and Twill, the women I met in the woods from 8, were right about its existence and its defense capabilities. We are currently on a very roundabout journey to District 13. Meanwhile, most of the districts in Panem are in full-scale rebellion.

Haymitch stops to see if I am following. Or maybe he is done for the moment. It's an awful lot to take in, this elaborate plan in which I was a piece, just as I was meant to be a piece in the Hunger Games. Used without consent, without knowledge. At least in the Hunger Games, I knew I was being played with. My supposed friends have been a lot more secretive.

“You didn't tell me.” My voice is as ragged as Finnick's.

“Neither you nor Peeta were told. We couldn't risk it,” says Plutarch. “I was even worried you might mention my indiscretion with the watch during the Games.” He pulls out his pocket watch and runs his thumb across the crystal, lighting up the mockingjay. “Of course, when I showed you this, I was merely tipping you off about the arena. As a mentor. I thought it might be a first step toward gaining your trust. I never dreamed you'd be a tribute again.”

“I still don't understand why Peeta and I weren't let in on the plan,” I say.

“Because once the force field blew, you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and the less you knew, the better,” says Haymitch.

“The first ones? Why?” I say, trying to hang on to the train of thought.

“For the same reason the rest of us agreed to die to keep you alive,” says Finnick.

“No, Johanna tried to kill me,” I say.

“Johanna knocked you out to cut the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you,” says Haymitch.

“What?” My head aches so and I want them to stop talking in circles. “I don't know what you're—”

“We had to save you because you're the mockingjay, Katniss,” says Plutarch. “While you live, the revolution lives.”

The bird, the pin, the song, the berries, the watch, the cracker, the dress that burst into flames. I am the mockingjay. (372-380)


Just when Katniss thinks she's about to die, she's saved...by the game maker himself? That's awkward. Now she knows how Peeta felt when she and Haymitch kept things from him. It's not fun and feels like you've been completely played. She goes from being a pawn from one game to a pawn in another. 


Everyone went through so much to keep her alive. It reminds me of Harry Potter. Since through that series so many people sacrificed themselves to save Harry for a greater prophecy. 


So through out a whole book Katniss went from a winner, to trying to stop the rebellion, to a tribute (again), and now she's a mockingjay, or well the spokesperson for a rebellion. That's one crazy life she has. 


In this book, the Mockingjay has always been a constant symbol. It started out as a  "good luck" pin from a friend. To a label for a rebellion. Before it meant nothing, now when everyone sees it they'll be reminded of Katniss, the girl who was on fire and the change she is bringing to Panem. 

Catching Fire 5

Haymitch skirts along the edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out. His foot dislodges a pebble and it falls into the abyss, apparently gone forever. But a minute later, as he sits to rest, the pebble shoots back up beside him. Haymitch stares at it, puzzled, and then his face takes on a strange intensity. He lobs a rock the size of his fist over the cliff and waits. When it flies back out and right into his hand, he starts laughing.

That's when we hear Maysilee begin to scream. The alliance is over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch runs for her, anyway. He arrives only in time to watch the last of a flock of candy pink birds, equipped with long, thin beaks, skewer her through the neck. He holds her hand while she dies, and all I can think of is Rue and how I was too late to save her, too.

Later that day, another tribute is killed in combat and a third gets eaten by a pack of those fluffy squirrels, leaving Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to vie for the crown. She's bigger than he is and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and awful and both have received what could well be fatal wounds, when Haymitch is finally disarmed. He staggers through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbles after him, carrying the ax that should deliver his deathblow. Haymitch makes a beeline for his cliff and has just reached the edge when she throws the ax. He collapses on the ground and it flies into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stands there, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her empty eye socket. She's thinking perhaps that she can outlast Haymitch, who's starting to convulse on the ground. But what she doesn't know, and what he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buries itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch's victory. (Collins 199-200)


This is why the Capitol was totally okay with Haymitch being drunk almost all of the time. It was better then him rebelling against them anymore than he did during the second Quarter Quell. Haymitch used  the Capitols own device thats supposed to stop him, to stop someone else, and win the game. 


This is important because we've never heard of Haymitch's passed at all until now. We only knew that he won the games before and spends all of his time drunk. Especially during The Game season. 


The Government doesn't think its people are as smart or smarter then them. They want us to put our trust in them so we dont question and stop them. Even though sometimes. that's what we should do. 

Catching Fire 4

“And now we honor our third Quarter Quell,” says the president. The little boy in white steps forward, holding out the box as he opens the lid. We can see the tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes. Whoever devised the Quarter Quell system had prepared for centuries of Hunger Games. The president removes an envelope clearly marked with a 75. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

My mother gives a faint shriek and Prim buries her face in her hands, but I feel more like the people I see in the crowd on television. Slightly baffled. What does it mean? Existing pool of victors? Then I get it, what it means. At least, for me. District 12 only has three existing victors to choose from. Two male. One female ...

I am going back into the arena.(Collins 170- 171)


How does anyone know President Snow didn't write the letter so Katniss would have to go back into the games? He controls basically everything. He could change a piece of paper to whatever he wanted with all of his power. Surely, both Peeta and Katniss cant survive another Games, with all of the winners from other districts. 


This is the Capitol's way of trying to get their control back. To get back at all of those who follow Katniss to follow them. If they see her die on TV, the rebellion will die. 


This says about the present that we like drama. And this is definitely drama. But humans only like drama when they get to watch it and not partake in it. 

Catching Fire 3

“Wait!” I stumble forward, pressing the plaque to my chest. My allotted time for speaking has come and gone, but I must say something. I owe too much. And even if I had pledged all my winnings to the families, it would not excuse my silence today. “Wait, please.” I don't know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they've been forming in the back of my mind for a long time.

“I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven,” I say. I look at the pair of women on Thresh's side. “I only ever spoke to Thresh one time. Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. For his refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. I respected him for that.”

For the first time the old hunched woman — is she Thresh's grandmother? — raises her head and the trace of a smile plays on her lips.

The crowd has fallen silent now, so silent that I wonder how

they manage it. They must all be holding their breath.

I turn to Rue's family. “But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.” My voice is undependable, but I am almost finished. “Thank you for your children.” I raise my chin to address the crowd. “And thank you all for the bread.”

I stand there, feeling broken and small, thousands of eyes trained on me. There's a long pause. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, someone whistles Rue's four-note mocking-jay tune. The one that signaled the end of the workday in the orchards. The one that meant safety in the arena. By the end of the tune, I have found the whistler, a wizened old man in a faded red shirt and overalls. His eyes meet mine.

What happens next is not an accident. It is too well executed to be spontaneous, because it happens in complete unison. Every person in the crowd presses the three middle fingers of their left hand against their lips and extends them to me. It's our sign from District 12, the last good-bye I gave Rue in the arena.

If I hadn't spoken to President Snow, this gesture might move me to tears. (Collins 62-63)


Katniss isn't good at scripts and planning. She's best at thinking on the spot. And this comes as a problem to the Capitol since they'll never be able to guess what she will do next. 


The rebellion has already started. It doesn't matter what Katniss and Peeta do on this tour because it's there and it cant be undone. governments like this don't last. Living in fear doesn't last. Eventually, the people will get fed up of being forced to do what they dont want to and will fight back. and 74 and a half years later, it's beginning. And it's all because of Katniss, Peeta and some poisonous berries. 

Catching Fire 2

“What?”

I tell him everything. About the president's visit, about Gale, about how we're all going to die if I fail.His face sobers, grows older in the glow of the red taillights.

“Then you can't fail.”

“If you could just help me get through this trip—” I begin.

“No, Katniss, it's not just this trip,” he says. “What do you mean?” I say.

“Even if you pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Peeta, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life, and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after with that boy.”

The full impact of what he's saying hits me. I will never have a life with Gale, even if I want to. I will never be allowed to live alone. I will have to be forever in love with Peeta. The Capitol will insist on it. I'll have a few years maybe, because I'm still only sixteen, to stay with my mother and Prim. And then ... and then ...

“Do you understand what I mean?” he presses me. I nod. He means there's only one future, if I want to keep those I love alive and stay alive myself. I'll have to marry Peeta. (Collins 45-46)

It's sad, because if Peeta and Katniss could just live their lives and not be threatened by the Capitol every two seconds, they'd probably get married and be happy. Not get pushed into it.

It's weird how a simple act of love in an act of desperation (because I don't care what she says, she's always had feelings for Peeta, it was NOT acting) can cause something that never even crossed Katniss and Peeta's mind through out the games. They just wanted to live. They just wanted to beat the games, not the system. They were just playing the game like they were supposed to. 


To be human in this society is to be afraid of your government and just do what ever they say. Because if you don't you'll be killed and made an example to the rest of the country to make sure they don't make the same mistakes as you. 

Catching Fire 1

“I have a problem, Miss Everdeen,” says President Snow.

“A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena.”

That was the moment when I guessed that if the Gamemakers had to choose between watching Peeta and me commit suicide—which would mean having no victor— and letting us both live, they would take the latter. “If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have blown you to dust right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?” he asks.

I nod because, by the way he says it, it's clear that Seneca Crane has been executed. The smell of roses and blood has grown stronger now that only a desk separates us. There's a rose in President Snow's lapel, which at least suggests a source of the flower perfume, but it must be

genetically enhanced, because no real rose reeks like that. As for the blood ... I don't know.

“After that, there was nothing to do but let you play out your little scenario. And you were pretty good, too, with the love crazed schoolgirl bit. The people in the Capitol were quite convinced. Unfortunately, not everyone in the districts fell for your act,” he says. My face must register at least a flicker of bewilderment, because he addresses it.

“This, of course, you don't know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, however, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love. And if a girl from District Twelve of all places can defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to stop them from doing the same?” he says.

“What is to prevent, say, an uprising?”

It takes a moment for his last sentence to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me. “There have been uprisings?” I ask, both chilled and somewhat elated by the possibility.

“Not yet. But they'll follow if the course of things doesn't change. And uprisings have been known to lead to revolution.” President Snow rubs a spot over his left eyebrow, the very spot where I myself get headaches. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? How many people would die? What conditions those left would have to face? Whatever problems anyone may have with the

Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short time, the entire system would collapse.”

I'm taken aback by the directness and even the sincerity of this speech. As if his primary concern is the welfare of the citizens of Panem, when nothing could be further from the truth. I don't know how I dare to say the next words, but I do. “It must be very fragile, if a handful of berries can bring it

down.”

There's a long pause while he examines me. Then he simply says, “It is fragile, but not in the way that you suppose.”

There's a knock at the door, and the Capitol man sticks his head in. “Her mother wants to know if you want tea.”

“I would. I would like tea,” says the president. The door opens wider, and there stands my mother, holding a tray with a china tea set she brought to the Seam when she married. “Set it here, please.” He places his book on the corner of the desk and pats the center. My mother sets the tray on the desk. It holds a china teapot and cups, cream and sugar, and a plate of cookies. They are beautifully iced with softly colored flowers. The frosting work can only be Peeta's.

“What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that presidents need to eat, too,” President Snow says charmingly. Well, it seems to relax my mother a bit, anyway.

“Can I get you anything else? I can cook something more substantial if you're hungry,” she offers.

“No, this could not be more perfect. Thank you,” he says, clearly dismissing her. My mother nods, shoots me a glance, and goes. President Snow pours tea for both of us and fills his with cream and sugar, then takes a long time stirring. I sense he has had his say and is waiting for me to respond.

“I didn't mean to start any uprisings,” I tell him.

“I believe you. It doesn't matter. Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem,” he says.

“Why don't you just kill me now?” I blurt out.

“Publicly?” he asks. “That would only add fuel to the flames.”

“Arrange an accident, then,” I say.

“Who would buy it?” he asks. “Not you, if you were watching.”

“Then just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it,” I say.

“If only it were that simple.” He picks up one of the flowered cookies and examines it.

“Lovely. Your mother made these?”

“Peeta.” And for the first time, I find I can't hold his gaze. I reach for my tea but set it back down when I hear the cup rattling against the saucer. To cover I quickly take a cookie.

“Peeta. How is the love of your life?” he asks.

“Good,” I say.

“At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?” he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea.

“I'm not indifferent,” I say.

“But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe,” he says.

“Who says I'm not?” I say.

“I do,” says the president. “And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?”

“I don't know ... I don't ...” My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off.

“Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution,” he says. “You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday.”(Collins 22-26)

When you have the president of Panem visiting your house after you cheated a game that's supposed to instill fear into the people, you know you've gotten caught. Katniss has a lot to do on this tour if she's gonna make it out alive. 


The Capitol will never leave her alone, even after the Hunger Games. It's the Hunger Games for life for Katniss and Peeta since they've brought something different to the games and went against their government. Not only are they going to be a pawn in the hunger games, but the Capitol, or just President Snow, is gonna try and control Katniss and Peeta for the rest of their life. 

The Hunger Games 6

"'No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it,' I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him.

'But I --' he insists.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag around him. 'You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?'

'All right,' he whispers.

I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot brother.

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. 'You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!'

And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance." (Collins 268-269)

This shows how much power the media (that's controlled by the Capital) has over your survival in the arena. If you stick to what the audience wants, you'll get more sponsors. The more sponsors you have, the more supplies that you really need and cant find, you'll get. It's not just strength and skill. You have to play up to your story too. Like this star-crossed lovers thing Katniss and Peeta are playing up. 


The whole romance thing is frustrating! Katniss thinks that Peeta's just playing along because that's what Haymitch wanted, but he really is in love with her! I feel so bad for him. I just wanna smack Katniss and be like THIS IS NOT AN ACT. HE LOVES YOU, WHAT ARE YOU DOING. In the end, when she goes back to how it was before, he's going to be heartbroken because he really does love her and she's gonna say it was just win, because she hates showing her feelings. 


Katniss believes that she is manipulating everyone in the Capitol's thoughts by playing up this star-crossed lovers deal. Even though I think she is in love with Peeta. Either way, she does get sponsors to get the medicine Peeta needs for his leg, so it works!