Katniss. The girl who was on fire. Is on fire. And it's all my fault. I feel like screaming at the gamemakers. Shaking them until they bleed. I feel like killing President Snow for starting all this. But most of all, I want to kill myself. It was my fault. My fault. It was my idea for her cape to be set on fire during the chariot ride. It was my idea for her interview dress to create the illusion that she was being engulfed in flames. But most of all, it was my idea for the whole of Panem to know her as 'Katniss, the girl who was on fire'. I watch as the fire starts launching huge balls of fire at her. I can't take it anymore. I switch the television off. I walk over to a painting of the Capitol. Big, bright buildings and streets alive with movement. I hit my head against it once, twice, three times. I hit my head until the original ache is a piercing pain and I can't take it anymore. My fault… My fault… My fault… The words flutter around my head like unwanted butterflies. I find myself sitting at my desk. I pick up my sketch book and my charcoal pencil. Charcoal… like coal… like fire… like Katniss. I can't take it anymore. I begin to scream, like white hot agony searing my whole body to the point of unconsciousness. An avox comes rushing in, looking very concerned.
'I'm fine.' She hesitates a moment, before quietly walking out again. I look over at the picture I was hitting myself against before. Before I can stop myself, I begin to draw. Long, angry strokes of grey and black and streaks of white. I draw until my hand is piercing in pain. I look down at my work. Old, crumbled buildings litter the streets. Flames of burning white fire engulf the land. A pile of bodies is right in the centre, so perfectly shaped in a pyramid as though someone had plucked each one carefully and placed them one by one in the perfect shape. The pile consists of the bodies of Seneca Crane, Claudius Templesmith, Caesar Flickerman and other nameless gamemakers who are purely objects of my imagination. Right on top of the pyramid, scars and wounds covering his face, is the dead body of President Snow. I look at the picture and know what I have to do. I am going to support the girl on fire. I flash back to the catacombs before the games started.
'I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could I'd bet on you.' Isn't this what I told her? I am going to stay true to my word, never let any argument lead me astray. The girl on fire is going to win. And no one will stop her.