Reaping After Dawn

Katniss, Peeta, and I are escorted up the stage, two Peacekeepers flanking each of us.

The audience is silent. Solemn.

Effie Trinket stands center stage in another outrageous outfit made of butterflies, though, I’ll admit, this one doesn’t make me want to gouge my eyes out. Progress, I guess.

The Capitol’s crimson and gold embroidered flags are hung high for all of District 12 to see–banners painted with the blood of our children.

My head is pounding, and it’s not just because I’m without liquor in my system.

I gaze at the ground, my mind foggy as I hear Effie’s voice amplified on the microphone. “Welcome, welcome, as we celebrate the 75th Anniversary, and third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games.”

“As always, ladies first.” She reaches her hand into the glass bowl. One piece of paper is stuck to the bottom. The last–and only–female victor of District 12.

“Katniss Everdeen,” Effie sighs as she places her hand on Katniss’s shoulder, her typically bright personality now dimmed by the hapless circumstances. While Effie attempts to perform her picture-perfect smile for the camera, Katniss’s mask is unreadable. A blank, expressionless stare with a glimmer of rage peeking through.

“Now, for the men.” Effie takes a few steps over towards Peeta and me.

Two slips of paper. She pulls one out.

“The male tribute from District 12, Peeta Mellark.” Katniss whips her head straight to me. “You promised. Peeta has to live.” Her words echo in my mind as her eyes burn into mine.

I hesitate for a moment. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Plutarch better have a hell of a plan B because the fate of Panem is doomed if we don’t have our Mockingjay. I hate to put my girl through it, but even if she doesn’t know it, she is the spark to light this rebellion. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.

It also dawns on me that I’m going to die sober. A bit ironic, I suppose. Maybe some sponsors will help me out with that. I am–was–Katniss and Peeta’s mentor after all, the infamous star-crossed lovers and beloved darlings of The Capitol. I think I’m memorable enough to get my hands on some hootch.

“I volunteer as tribute.” I step forward.

A quiet sob escapes Effie’s breath. I look her way, catching a fleeting glance.

“You can’t,” Peeta protests. He’s almost as stubborn as Katniss. Almost. It’s no wonder that they are perfect for one another, even if they remain completely oblivious about it.

“I just did, boy. Now, step aside.” Peeta moves out of my way, hurt with betrayal.

“The tributes from District 12: Katniss Everdeen, and Haymitch Abernathy.”

Effie’s eyes glisten as she fights back the tears. She sucks in a breath, trying not to choke on the words as she announces the victors of the 75th Quarter Quell. Effie’s always bought into the Capitol’s propaganda bullshit, but for the first time, I thought I saw that polished facade of hers crack. Never thought I’d live to see the day. I’m going to miss her. Just a bit.

For a moment, she reminded me of someone from my past, long ago.

As beautiful as a Dove.

I stare out at the crowd, and one by one, they press three fingers to their lips, saluting high in the air to say their goodbyes.

Peacekeepers move in to escort us off the stage, confusion sweeping over me as I watch Katniss struggle to get away, desperate to get to her family.

“Hey, whoa now,” I raise my arms trying to implore the commander to see reason, “Just let the girl say goodbye.”

“Change of plans. Straight to the train,” says the new head peacekeeper—the same bastard who tore up Gale’s back not too long ago. He’s got a firm grip on Katniss’s arm, dragging her and me away.

I hear her younger sister scream her name. Katniss twists around, fighting the grip, and the last thing she manages to yell is a single word—goodbye.

Even though mine has been gone for a long while, hers is still here, standing right in front of her.

The doors shut behind us.

The four of us are spread out on the lavish purple couch at the 12th floor of the tribute center. Night has crept in and the entire city is lit up as the citizens down below celebrate another spectacular year of people killing one another.

I’ve gone over each victor’s strengths and weaknesses. They are all experienced killers, and I know these people, and they all know each other. So having allies is absolutely necessary. Luckily for me, I know exactly who to choose. The real challenge is getting Katniss on board with it. Some actually helped me in my own games. Seeing their faces flash across the screen affected me more than I wanted to admit.

I get up from the couch and head to the fully stocked beverage cart to numb the guilt.

Peeta glares at me from the corner of the room. Still furious. Rightfully so. He’s a mentor now. I know it’ll be a long while before he forgives me, but him being angry with me is better than him being dead.

With all eyes on me—and Plutarch now promoted to Head Gamemaker—staying in contact with him and the other tributes is going to be a hell of a lot harder.

This isn’t like the other games.President Snow has fixated on destroying the idea of her—the idea of the Mockingjay.

And what better way to do that than to strike fear into all the Districts?

To prove that no one is safe. That no one ever escapes the games. But now that the plan’s changed, my priorities are clear: keep the Mockingjay alive, help her and Beetee take down the arena, and make sure Snow doesn’t catch on to what we’re really doing. Oh—and try not to die in the process.

I hope Katniss’s luck doesn’t run out by having me at her side in that arena.