There is a dull thud as the final shot of the war pierces my Grandfather's heart and hits the wooden beam he is cuffed to. A ghost of a smile plays upon his swollen lips, taunting the girl who shot the arrow. His body slumps forwards and there is a joint exhale of the crowd of Capitol and district citizens alike. The Mockingjay, otherwise known as Katniss Everdeen, lowers her black bow and turns away from the crowd before stalking back into the Presidential mansion. The crowd buzzes with murmured whispers and speculations – there are few that were around before President Snow took power and now that he was finally dead, no one knows what the new era of President Coin will bring.

My father squeezes my hand tightly, reassuring me. I'm not quite sure what of though, because I felt nothing except a thud as hollow and dull as the thud that brought my Grandfather's death. On my other side, my mother lets out a quiet sigh of relief. She has never liked her husband's father – probably because of the way he looked at her, as though he was ravenously hungry and she was a juicy steak just out of his reach. OK, maybe not quite like that, but you know what I mean. My father, however, was very fond of the President but didn't dare to argue against his execution in case the attention was drawn to us, his only surviving relations.

I turn round to survey the sea of rebels and citizens of the Capitol. Some have red hot anger constricting their throats, some have pure fear written across their faces and some are laughing and singing as though a great burden has been lifted off their shoulders. As the officials and undertakers clear the platform, the masses begin to leave the square in clumps, still discussing the execution as they go. Safe in between my mother and father, we push our way down the streets and through the back alleys to a secluded candyfloss-pink detached house belonging to Mother's friend, Julia.

She opens the door with a great squeal as we wearily trudge into the baby blue interior. Her bright orange hair looks as though it's just come into contact with an electric fuse and her usual thick gold eyeliner and mascara has been smudged with tears.

'Oh, you poor darlings!' she gushes over sympathetically, clutching me with surprising force to her chest. 'I just couldn't bring myself to go! These rebels are just so barbaric! Just wait until I –,' but we never got to hear what Julia was going to do to the rebels. The aqua flat screen TV set in the corner of the room suddenly flickers into life like it used to whenever the Capitol had something every household in Panem needed to see. The rebels must have taken over control already, I think grimly.

'Cordelia, sweetie, turn the volume up,' Mother asks, interrupting an indignant Julia. I walk over to the set, turn it up and settle onto the fluffy orange sofa that matches our host's hair so well.

'Probably a re-cap of the execution,' Father mutters. Mother pats his knee and pretends to ignore his flinch. Julia looks as though she's welling up again until President Coin's hateful face appears on the screen, apparently in Grandfather's study. She begins by talking about the death of the old President, then says a short piece about a few of the rebels who died fighting against what was the old, much loathed rule of President Snow. A few of the names I recognise, like Finnick Odair (I had a poster of him on my wall in our old house), Portia and Cinna the adored stylists and Primrose Everdeen who must have been the sister of Katniss. I don't feel pity for her or any of her family – the Mockingjay got what she deserves after killing my Grandfather and making Father so upset. If it wasn't for her, there would be no rebellion, the Hunger Games would continue and I would be at school or in my old house blissful and content at my life in the Capitol. I had thought I rather liked her when I watched her in the Arena last year with that boy…what was his name? Oh yes, Peeta. I had giggled and sighed with my friends over their romance but now I would happily kill her if I had the chance. Or him, if heartbreak could kill her, but I doubt anything except a gun or a knife would kill someone so fierce and cold.

'Finally, we have a few new rules that should be put in place with immediate effect,' Coin announces firmly, her eyes seemingly boring into mine. 'All shops that provide decoration of the body will be closed and boarded by the end of the week. We do not have time for frivolities in the new country which is Panem. Citizens shall receive standard clothing items tomorrow at the City centre.'

I hear Julia let out a sob as she clutches her hair as though it might jump off her scalp and run out the door. It could well do – I think it might be a wig. I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the screen.

'Secondly, if any citizen – Capitol or District – opposes the revolution with violence or any other means they will be imprisoned and most likely killed for their treachery. Panem is a whole and we must work together to achieve the same goal – peace and prosperity.

'Last but by no means least, we are going to have a final Hunger Games to remind Panem that the oppressors can be punished by the people and they are not invincible.'

There is a sharp intake of breath that seems to echo across the whole land. I bet every household in the country is glued to their TV sets hanging on her every word.

'However, this time, the tributes will not come from the Districts as before but from the Capitol its self. The children of the oppressors must pay for the crimes of their fathers and forefathers, as we paid for ours. The children and grandchildren of the leaders of the Capitol will be this year's tributes.' Coin smiles slyly and reaches for an envelope at the corner of the desk. 'We have already had the reapings…' her smile widens as she pulls out the first name from the envelope. I realise I'm holing by breath. 'Our first tribute in the Final Hunger Games is Cordelia Snow.'

I faint.