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Katniss' POV:
"I think this is a horrible idea, it makes us exactly like them. It is hypocritical." Peeta's eyes look ahead staring at the Capitol's children gathering around in the enclosure that President Coin has separated among them by age.
Like ants they scatter around, afraid-so little and brightly colored. All I can think is how Prim would not have wanted this, but the thought causes my stomach to clench because she is gone. Forever. And I want to make them pay, make these ignorant people pay for my sister's pain and death. However, most of all, I just want revenge.
This is why I ignore Peeta's comment, so what if it makes us hypocrites, they have spilled enough of our children's blood it is time they learn how it feels. How it feel to have a loved one ripped from your grasp, so violently, and all you can do is stand and watch. Helpless.
Coin is calling the boy's first, instead of girls, and I watch five brightly colored birds flocking to the stage in ignorance-not knowing what is to come, not understanding they will be fighting to the death before their families and friends eyes. I vaguely make the analogy of on resembling Cinna, but quickly squash the thought and bury the emotion far below.
It is the girls turn, and I wondered why Coin did not make an age limit on these "Games," I have seen boys ranging from thirteen to twenty so far. "I suppose everything is fair game to the new president," I think bitterly as I watch Coin shaking up the girls names. One flowery looking girl, who looks about sixteen, walks onto the stage. Following her are two other's, twenty-one-year-old's but how can you really tell their ages with all the alterations. I look away in disgust.
Then I hear a desperate cry, and whip my head back to be taken back into a hell I thought I had already lived and repressed. But there it was right in front of me, mocking me, a girl younger than Prim had been when her name was called. Damn it, she even is tiny and blonde like my sister. I want to scream but it seems someone has already reacted. God, the girl cannot be more than 7 years-old. Coin cannot be serious.
I watch as a girl runs up screaming that she volunteers, probably her sister, just like I once did. I cannot bear to watch this, and Peeta is pounding on the glass now cursing at this abomination. A hand slides in mine and I look numbly into the dark eyes of Gale, as he gives me a reassuring squeeze.
I had chosen him, and as I look at Peeta I see the pain reflecting in his bright blue eyes before turning back to the horrible scene before them. Something they had helped create, something they were apart of and I could not help but think how right Peeta is-as he always seems to be. We are hypocrites.