Sunrise On The Reaping Opening 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.

The more I think it over, the more my dismay grows. Every year we let them herd us into their killing machine. Every year they pay no price for the slaughter. They just throw a big party and box up our bodies like presents for our families to open back home.

It’s a thin strip of metal, shaped like a C. My fingers naturally grip the curved back as I examine the colorful animals facing off at the opening. The head of a snake hisses at the beak of a long-necked bird. I flatten out my hand and see that their enameled scales and feathers travel around the piece until they merge and become indistinguishable. Two small rings are welded on, one behind each head. For a chain, maybe?

President Snow. Not on a screen, but in the flesh. The most powerful and, therefore, the most brutal person in Panem. He stands calm and erect, surveying the calamity of the opening ceremony. His head dips slightly and a lacquered silvery blond curl falls onto his forehead. Our eyes meet, and a smile plays on his lips. No anger, no outrage, and certainly no fear. I have not impressed him with my performance. The reckless mountain boy with the dead girl in his arms seems foolish, a trifle amusing, and nothing more.

For this first Quell, the Gamemakers had the tributes kick off the Capitol portion by riding chariots through the streets in district-flavored costumes. Rather than scout a location for the Games, they built an arena for a single use. Also, the Cornucopia made its first appearance, loaded with weapons and supplies, triggering a heated bloodbath when the opening gong sounded. For the last twenty-four years, they’ve unveiled a brand-new arena each year based on a different environment or theme, from a desert to a frigid landscape to Wiress’s reflective puzzle, which they called the Nest of Mirrors. Caesar teases the audience about the second Quarter Quell arena. He’s heard a rumor it puts all the previous arenas to shame. Can they imagine it? No, they can’t. Will it be fabulous? Yes, it will.

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.

The more I think it over, the more my dismay grows. Every year we let them herd us into their killing machine. Every year they pay no price for the slaughter. They just throw a big party and box up our bodies like presents for our families to open back home. “We could’ve at least done some damage,” I tell Ringina. “At least a little. Possibly a considerable amount,” someone says behind me. I turn to see Plutarch. He waves his camera crew over to record the knife training, but his attention stays on me. “The question is, why didn’t you?

Every year we let them herd us into their killing machine. Every year they pay no price for the slaughter. They just throw a big party and box up our bodies like presents for our families to open back home.

It’s like they’ve tried to bring the whole outdoors indoors. Why? Is opening a door and walking through it too much trouble? Fools and their money are soon parted, Ma would say.