It wasn't a particularly exciting hunger games.
Oh, sure, there was a fun little romance, some gore and likeable winner from district five. I suppose it is refreshing to have a break in the streak of ten careers that have dominated the winner's podium– but it won't go down in history. That's why I'm irritated; I've spent weeks waiting for my tickets to see the reunion show and I was hoping for something truly earth shattering.
The victor is a boy of seventeen; one half of the 'fun little romance'. Apparently he's gained quite a following among the younger female demographic– there's a whole group of them in the front row, squealing about the tin of soup they managed to send him in the first week and how he'll be so grateful. His name is Catt Cronin and he when he comes out he looks sallow and weary; he ignores the cheers of the crowd and sets himself down in front of the display. Caesar tries to interact with him but the response is monosyllabic and cold. The host gives up, we hush, and the montage begins.
We see him tear through the bloodbath at the cornucopia and snap up a spear, face grim and determined; later he's built himself a routine, catching ibex in the mountains of the arena and hiding from the other competitors. The footage looks unfamiliar and I realise it's because at this point he was immaterial to the game-makers; their cameras were trained on the district one team and the piles of corpses in their wake.
Then we get to the most memorable scene of the games– the district ten girl, Mitya Daye, being held at knifepoint. The camera angle being chosen so well that we don't see Catt sneaking up behind her attacker until a spear pierces through his chest. Her, cowering in fear as the body falls to the ground, and her, eyes widening, as he helps her up with a smile and a murmur of allies?
The people around me are enraptured, but something makes me glance at his face. I shudder at his expression. There's a raw pain in his gaze as he looks at her on the screen, a longing I've never experienced. He catches my eye and I feel so ashamed that I look at my hands.
Minutes later I look back up and they're the last two survivors. Her lips are tinged with poison, taken of her own device. He clings to her and promises to live and buries his face in her neck as she dies because there's nowhere else to go. The crowd sighs in a facsimile of sympathy.
I want Catt to be angry. I want him to cry or scream that we're monsters because I want punishment for all that I've done to him, sitting in front of the television and groaning at the hunger games that weren't particularly exciting. Instead he greets Snow numbly and the crown sits lopsided as they leave, the president's words of congratulation drumming in the back of my head.
To the Victor, go the spoils.