Death of a Tribute
She doesn't understand. He has to die! One way or another he's not leaving this arena alive. I'm doing her a favor! If she'd just stop fighting I could do them both a favor. But it's between me and her and then one of us will have to kill him. They won't honestly let him live – that's not how they work. In the end the power of the Capitol must even make love subservient to its demands. But he'll die now either way. At least now she won't have to give the killing blow. He'll die so long as she just waits, he'll bleed out and just slip away. But it would be more merciful if she'd put an arrow through his heart right now. Or let me take care of it. Or let me take care of them both.
I wonder if she'd become a morphling. Go slowly into that dark night. She'll never be a fighter like Enobara, scaring off all but the bravest for her… services. She won't revel in it like Finnick. Those two use their position for power. The power to subvert. No, she'll turn into a drunk like her mentor. I wonder how long before she downs her first bottle. After her first time as a mentor when she watches her people die? Maybe during the tour? Or after her first encounter as an escort – I wonder who will be brave enough to break her in? She probably won't even make it through the train ride home. Or maybe she'll just go crazy. She looks like just almost there already. When she has to sit there watching him bleed out, trying to decide whether to let him slowly suffer or to be merciful. No, her mind is too weak. It'll break when he dies. That's why they teach us to avoid attachments in the District. At least until we are old enough to be safe to have them. She doesn't understand – she really should just let me kill her. It would be the best thing for her… and him… and the future of Panam.
I am Cato. That is what my Father named me. He named me for a purpose – the name is my purpose. I am the one who is supposed to deliver the Districts. To clean out the corruption and excess that comes from the Capitol. When I was born Father took a name from the old books (the ones we found and hid from the Peacekeepers) – a name so old they didn't even have it on the list of banned names. A name with a purpose. Not like "Peeta"; a stupid name stripped of all its original power. Father says the name used to be "Peter" which meant "Rock" and that it was the name of a religious revolutionary whose belief system eventually was practiced all over the world. This boy dying in front of me is no "Peter"; just a weak toy of the Capitol. But I am Cato. My name is no flower or tree, it is no pretty little adjective, no force of nature – it is the name of men of power, men of change. It is the name of a man who stood up to an Emperor. And I will stand up to him.
I cannot lose! Not to this girl! What would become of the plan? Well, there would be Porcia, of course, she might be able to pull it off… maybe Quintus if all else fails. But that would be years from now and we need to start the process today. This little girl cannot make the Districts free – look at how her fingers tremble! She's just a child! She looked just like the others getting off the train: scared, overwhelmed, not ready for even a simple fight in the Arena. How could she handle a war with Snow? And War is coming. We can feel it. The air is tight in the Districts they say, like the slightest exhale could set off the Spark and blow the world into riots. But with revolution it matters less how, but who will come out on top. She could be easily swayed to the side of any charismatic revolutionary out for their own ends. She is too emotional! She can't see the big picture! She'd fall into the arms of anyone who would protect her dear little sister. If they'd use her at all by the time the Capitol is through with her. She really should just let me kill her.
I can see her future as clearly as I once saw my own. No doubt they haven't told her what winning actually means. Oh you can go back to your District… but you'll never go home again. She's pretty enough, she'll become the darling of the Capitol, and she'll soon find out what that means. And they will use her until she is so dead inside that she will be just a husk. And then she'll do everything she can to destroy herself until she becomes just another District humiliating disaster, just like her Mentor. These outer District rubes just can't handle the pressure. If they knew what they were getting into, that victory in the games didn't just mean food and a nice house on the hill, they would walk over to the Cornucopia – to us – with their hands outstretched, and say to us "Kill me. Kill me please." And we would oblige them. The mentors don't lie to us though, they tell us this is for the greater good. The more winners we have the more of us will be in the Capitol. The more popular we are with the Elites, the closer we can get to Snow and his cronies. And when the time comes and I lead the way of the Revolution at the Quarter Quell. We would die anyway – fast or slow – we were always meant to die. But we can die for a purpose. And we are ready, our people are all in place. There is only me. All I have to do is win. It was supposed to be easy. Or maybe… Snow knows. Or at least he suspects. Maybe, in these games "I was always meant to die." And now I'm falling. And I remember that poem my Mother used to say to me when I drifted off to sleep about the Greek messenger running with news from the battle of Marathon:
How beautiful the feet that bring good news; how fast oe'r ground they fly!
How welcome they sound of triumph true; how fast, too soon, they die.
And this is the part where I scream.