District 4 Hunger Games Quotes

It’s Mags, a victor from District 4. She looks at me sadly, knowingly, and then opens up her arms and says, “I’m so sorry about Louella, Haymitch.

We lost, and in punishment every July 4th, each of the districts routinely has to send two tributes, one girl and one boy between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in an arena. The last kid standing gets crowned as the victor.

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he’s still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favour, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-coloured hair and those incredible eyes.

Seafood from District 4. Electronic gadgets from District 3. And, of course, fabrics from District 8.

I have only one real friend in here. And he isn’t from District 4.

It’s Mags, a victor from District 4.

My mind starts buzzing. No seafood. For weeks. From District 4. The barely concealed rage in the crowd during the Victory Tour. And suddenly I am absolutely sure that District 4 has revolted.

While other tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident – which may be the most expensive gift I’ve ever seen given in the arena – it was all over. District 4’s industry is fishing. He’d been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

all survived. No surprise there. Then the boy from 4. I didn’t expect that one, usually all the Careers make it through the first day. The boy from District 5 . . . I guess the fox-faced girl made it. Both tributes from 6 and 7. The boy from 8. Both from 9. Yes, there’s the boy who I fought for the backpack. I’ve run through my fingers, only one more dead tribute to go. Is it Peeta? No, there’s the girl from District 10. That’s it. The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish. Then darkness and the sounds of the forest resume. I’m relieved Peeta’s alive. I tell myself again that if I get killed, his winning will benefit my mother and Prim the most. This is what I tell myself to explain the conflicting emotions that arise when I think of Peeta. The gratitude that he gave me an edge by professing his love for me in the interview. The anger at his superiority on the roof. The dread that we may come face-to-face at any moment in this arena. Eleven dead, but none from District 12. I try to work out who is left. Five Career Tributes. Foxface. Thresh and Rue. Rue . . . so she made it through the first day after all. I can’t help feeling glad. That makes ten of us. The other three I’ll figure out tomorrow. Now when it is dark, and I have traveled far, and I am nestled high in this tree, now I must try and rest. I haven’t really slept in two days, and then there’s been the long day’s journey into the arena.

We lost, and in punishment every July 4th, each of the districts routinely has to send two tributes, one girl and one boy between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in an arena.

So, of course, they gave her to us. We always get the leftovers. Filthy costumes, broken-down nags, and now her. I try to roll with it, but it pisses me off. I don’t want Wiress for a mentor. She’s just another bizarre person to deal with when I’m already scraped raw. How can a girl who follows light beams help me anyway? How can a girl who left the arena without a scratch teach me how to protect myself? How can a girl who has fought no one, killed no one, mentored no one, mentor me? She can’t, that’s all. I’m fixing to say as much when a second woman arrives. It takes a moment to place her. She’s older, probably near Hattie’s age. Then I remember a Games from when I was little, and a hysterical boy dressed in a suit made of seashells, who’d just been crowned in front of the entire nation of Panem. The hysteria had triggered when they’d played the recap of the Games, showing all twenty-three of his competitors’ deaths. And this woman had held the boy and done her best as his mentor to shield him from the cameras, which were devouring every awful bit of it. It’s Mags, a victor from District 4. She looks at me sadly, knowingly, and then opens up her arms and says, “I’m so sorry about Louella, Haymitch.” For a moment, I teeter between anger and grief. But the dam finally breaks. I step into her embrace, drop my head on her shoulder, and begin to cry.