第122章

  during the highlights, they periodically show
  the winner’s reaction up on a box in the corner of the screen. i
  think back to earlier years . . . some are triumphant, pumping
  their fists in the air, beating their chests. most just seem
  stunned. all i know is that the only thing keeping me on this
  love seat is peeta — his arm around my shoulder, his other
  hand claimed by both of mine. of course, the previous victors
  didn’t have the capitol looking for a way to destroy them.
  condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat,
  especially when you consider how many cameras were going
  at once. whoever puts together the highlights has to choose
  what sort of story to tell. this year, for the first time, they tell
  a love story. i know peeta and i won, but a disproportionate
  amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. i’m
  glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing
  that’s my defense for defying the capitol, plus it means we
  won’t have as much time to linger over the deaths.
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  the first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events,
  the reaping, the chariot ride through the capitol, our training
  scores, and our interviews. there’s this sort of upbeat
  soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful be-
  cause, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead.
  once we’re in the arena, there’s detailed coverage of the
  bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate be-
  tween shots of tributes dying and shots of us. mostly peeta re-
  ally, there’s no question he’s carrying this romance thing on
  his shoulders. now i see what the audience saw, how he
  misled the careers about me, stayed awake the entire night
  under the tracker jacker tree, fought cato to let me escape and
  even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his
  sleep. i seem heartless in comparison — dodging fireballs,
  dropping nests, and blowing up supplies — until i go hunting
  for rue. they play her death in full, the spearing, my failed
  rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from district 1’s
  throat, rue drawing her last breath in my arms. and the song.
  i get to sing every note of the song. something inside me shuts
  down and i’m too numb to feel anything. it’s like watching
  complete strangers in another hunger games. but i do notice
  they omit the part where i covered her in flowers.
  right. because even that smacks of rebellion.
  things pick up for me once they’ve announced two tributes
  from the same district can live and i shout out peeta’s name
  and then clap my hands over my mouth. if i’ve seemed indiffe-
  rent to him earlier, i make up for it now, by finding him, nurs-
  ing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and
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  being very free with my kisses. objectively, i can see the mutts
  and cato’s death are as gruesome as ever, but again, i feel it
  happens to people i have never met.
  and then comes the moment with the berries. i can hear
  the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss any-
  thing. a wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me
  when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but
  with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, scream-
  ing peeta’s name as they try to revive him.
  in terms of survival, it’s my best moment all night.
  the anthem’s playing yet again and we rise as president
  snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying
  a cushion that holds the crown. there’s just one crown,
  though, and you can hear the crowd’s confusion — whose
  head will he place it on?