For the first time, I get a good look at them. A mix of human and lizard and who knows what else. White, tight reptilian skin smeared with gore, clawed hands and feet, their faces a mess of conflicting features. Hissing, shrieking my name now, as their bodies contort in rage. Lashing out with tails and claws, taking huge chunks of one another or their own bodies with wide, lathered mouths, driven mad by their need to destroy me. My scent must be as evocative to them as theirs is to me. More so, because despite its toxicity, the mutts begin to throw themselves into the foul sewer (…).
“Climb!” Gale barks at me. I’m back up, hauling him in, peering into the gloom for more. “No.” Gale turns my face to him and shakes his head. Uniform shredded. Gaping wound in the side of his neck.
There’s a human cry from below. “Someone’s still alive,” I plead.
“No, Katniss. They’re not coming,” says Gale. “Only the mutts are.“
Unnable to accept it, I shine the light from Cressida’s gun down the shaft. Far below, I can just make out Finnick, struggling to hang on as three mutts tear at him. As one yanks back his head to take the death bite, something bizarre happens. It’s as if I’m Finnick, watching images of my life flash by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee’s trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over rocks.
Then it’s over.
I just don’t want to be another piece in their game.
(via stay-together-always)
(via stay-together-always)
Then I know Prim is right, that Snow cannot afford to waste Peeta‘s life, especially now, while the Mockingjay causes so much havoc. He‘s killed Cinna already. Destroyed my home. My family, Gale, and even Haymitch are out of his reach. Peeta‘s all he has left.
“So, what do you think they‘ll do to him?” I ask.
Prim sounds about a thousand years old when she speaks.
“Whatever it takes to break you.”
(via winslet)
(via breadinhotchocolate)
(via finnickdistractsme)
I’m the monster. I’m the mutt. I’m the one Snow has turned into a weapon.
(via catnipeverdeens)
We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction
- Plutarch Heavensbee
(via breadinhotchocolate)
What’s interesting is that Plutarch seems to have no need to share in the credit. All he wants is for the the Airtime Assult to work. I remember that Plutarch is a Head Gamemaker, not a member of the Crew. Not a piece in the Games. Therfore, his worth is not defined by a single element, but by the overall success of the production. If we win the war, that’s when Plutarch will take his bow. And expect his reward.
(via breadinhotchocolate)
Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he’ll never come back to me. Or I’ll never go back to him. I’ll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble.
(via teacupinastorm)
(via everdeenly)
