by Deirdre O’Callaghan
We had one conversation, I have yet to meet Jen which is funny since I talk about her so much right now, but I sent her an email. I was just curious, she had gone from doing indie films to doing Hunger Games, which is a giant film obviously, and I wondered if it had changed her life. In positive ways, if she was happy with her decision, sort of what that looked like since I had zero reference to look at.
The whole country loves your sister. If they torture her or do anything to her, forget the districts. There would be riots in the damn Capitol. Hey how does that sound Snow?! What if we set your backyard on fire?! You know you can’t put everybody in here!
I look up into those blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly and remember how, just a year ago, I was prepared to kill him. Convinced he was trying to kill me. Now everything is reversed. I’m determined to keep him alive, knowing the cost will be my own life, but the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta, not Haymitch, beside me.
I think I can make out one or two of those wavy squares, chinks in the armor, Wiress and Beetee called them, because they reveal what was meant to be hidden and therefore a weakness. Just to make absolutely sure, I shoot an arrow into the empty space above the tree line. There’s a spurt of light, a flash of real blue sky, and the arrow’s thrown back into the jungle.