The Confession


"Let that be a lesson, Petra," President Snow joins me in my vigil before that smoking corpse on a cross. "I am not mad. I do not waste life. I can be…merciful, when the situation calls for it."

"When it's convenient for you, you mean," I return, still gazing out over that terrible expanse. The Capitol, it's enormous. Stretches for miles. As far as I can see, the never-ending lines of light expand into the darkness and devour it.

"Situational mercy is still mercy," Snow corrects me. "And men are never merciful when there is no benefit to be gained. No one is merciful in the face of endangerment, else they are only fools."

I turn to face him. "At least they're not killers."

"No, Petra," Snow corrects me. "They're worse than killers. I plan efficient executions, kill only when necessary, and in dong so I minimize collateral damage. Your Resistance, your Libertas…all those passive-resistance guerrilla fighters who fancy themselves heroes, martyrs and in the moral high ground who on occasional whims of mercy spare the lives of their foes without warrant threaten each and every citizen of Panem. Understand they do so at terrible cost, with little or nothing gained."

"At least they try," I insist.

"Is that what you think?" Snow remands harshly. "Better to play at morality, better to wantonly sacrifice innocent lives in the name of a supposedly "greater" cause than create a state of peace and civility? Then you are a fool, Petra Angelovna. I had hoped better of you."

"Peace and civility?" I retort. "Is that what you call life in the Districts? Because I've lived there, Snow, and there's nothing peaceful or civil about it!"

"You are correct, Petra Angelovna."

"What?" I ask, startled.

"The Districts…it is unfortunate about the Districts," his brow furrows. "But a situation without a resolution. Nothing can be done-"

"You could try!" I pound a fist against the wood as crisp flesh and charred bone fall. "I've seen families starve, watched children die—!"

"Do not interrupt," he warns me sternly. "I said nothing can be done quickly. You have seen the Capitol, Petra Angelovna, so tell me, do you find its Citizens likely to accept the idea of equality with the Districts? Do you think them likely to embrace higher premiums on petrol and produce? Do you think during election year and budgeting that thought is spared to humanitarian aid or social reform?"

I blink, both shocked and incensed. "Don't pretend to hate it, Snow. You've worked for years to become this."

"The corrupt leader of a corrupt regime for a corrupt populace?" He returns coolly. "Yes, Petra Angelovna, I have. I have lied and killed, manipulated and calculated my way to this position. But I have begun reform-"

Tesserae has increased. The Games more sensationalized. District 6 shuddered in the grasp of consumption and starvation during the White Winter and the only Capitol aid we received was flame-throwers to cremate our dead. "Liar." I accuse him.

The word seems small, empty in the chill night air, but dangerous. And deadly. Yet his countenance is as inscrutable as ever. "I am not a liar, Petra Angelovna. Tell me, during this evening, have I ever once been anything less than honest with you?"

I chew my tongue.

"Answer me," he demands.

"No," I finally whisper, face hot.

"You would do well to remember it. I have begun reform. Have wrested power from the corrupt corporations, the rich, the lobbyists and the intrigues of the Senate, and consolidated it under the Executive branch."

Those words are weighty, like that antebellum…but I don't understand their significance. "I don't understand."

"I have become President, but only while working to make the Presidency all-powerful. I have by-passed the assemblies and the congresses and the politics and the intrigue in order to achieve. One man may do what thousands may not. My word is now law, passed when spoken, and deadly to disobey."

"You haven't stopped the Games. You've made them worse. Celebrated." I argue. "So don't pretend to be a hero."

"The Games must continue," Snow informs me icily. "The Games are paramount. I have done what I have done to protect Panem's future-"

Preserving our past. Protecting our future. I snort. "You've watched your own propaganda too much."

"Propaganda?" Snow asks lightly. "Is that what you make of it?"

"Yes."

"Then you are not unintelligent after all. Not one in a hundred is so wise. Not one in a thousand so bold. You could be useful to me, Petra Angelovna," he explains. "Useful, or a threat. The choice is yours. All I have done this evening is to advise you to choose wisely. But tell, me, Petra, what is the propaganda for?"

"To make the Games look good." So we forget it's the Capitol killing our children for the sake of sport, nothing more.

"Perhaps. But what else?" he presses. "Why are so many Vids broadcasted to you, not just the Games?"

"The Adverts?" I ask, puzzled. "Is that what you mean?"

"The excess," Snow says. "Both in the Districts and the Capitol alike. Why, Petra Angelovna? Why are the Hunger Games, the entertainment so important? Why do they permeate our media, saturate the Vids with mindless consumerism?"

"I…I don't know," I stammer honestly.

But my honesty isn't good enough. "Think," he commands.

"It's a distraction," I finally decide.

"A distraction?" He cocks his head with an air of satisfaction. "From what?"

"I…I don't know."

"Few do. Live through the Hunger Games, Petra Angelovna, and we may talk more. Choose to be useful, and I will share a President's secret with you. I will tell you the truth about Panem, the answers to the questions that no one thinks—that no one dares—to ask. I will share why District 2 can continue producing Peacekeeper uniforms year after year after year and still turn a profit…" he trails off lowly. "And I will tell you why I have become what I have become. Because someone must, else all is lost."

Questions? Secrets? Answers?

Uniforms? "Why are you telling me this?" I ask cautiously. "Any of it? Why not kill me and be done with it?"

"The Games are Paramount, Petra Angelovna. They must continue. I have set the wheels in motion, but sometimes they turn as they may. The Crowd is easily swayed and unpredictable, and this year they have chosen you. Now you know what is at stake: your life, your family, your District and possibly your Country. She stands on a knife's point, and only those willing to do as I have done might save her." He continues gravely. "Do the right thing. Obey me, and win. Panem will reward you with your life, with your family's lives. And, perhaps, given time, she may even thank you for your service."

"I know what service you require," I sneer. "And I am no man's whore."

His lips play a rueful smile."Neither are you a Patriot, nor a fool, and this is why I have chosen to appeal to your intellect instead. Because you are intelligent, Petra Angelovna, and being so you must realize that neither are you in a position in which to negotiate."

I step away from him, look to that ledge and the dizzying height below. "I could do it, you know. I could fall and you couldn't stop me. They Games need twenty-four Tributes. They need me. Think about that."

"But you would not," Snow states simply. "You wish to live, despite the implications, despite the cost, you have planned to win the Hunger Games since the moment you were Reaped. Do not deny it, Petra Angelovna, your father affirmed it himself."

I feel a cold knife pass through my ribs. Father! "You-"

"Tortured him?" Snow asks, amused at my fears. "No. I merely observed you from the Train Station via satellite. You asked why I made you watch? Why I spared that despicable, cowardly creature and that gibbering oaf Heavensby? I made you watch, Petra Angelovna, so you would understand that you are not alone, and there is no shame in capitulation, only reward."

I cross my arms, that ledge—like my empty threat—forgotten. He knew it was an empty bluff, knew I wouldn't jump…and so did I. I shake my head as my throat begins to tighten anew in resignation and disgust. I am Petra Angelovna, Victor of the 73rd Hunger Games and I am a selfish, wicked coward. "I won't be your puppet," I choke, shaking my head and clenching my face lest bitter tears fall unbidden. "And I am not a whore."

"Petra, Petra," he chides me gently, placing a rose-scented hand on my face as I cringe away. "You will have little choice. Come, you have seen my mercy. Now observe what happens to those who refuse it."


AN: So why is Snow pulling the classic bad-guy confession? Shouldn't he be smarter than to reveal his plans like that? I have no idea. I think he thinks of himself as misunderstood. He might even think he's the protagonist. Hmm...the intention was to portray him in all his bastardly magnificence, not morph him into a slightly tragic genius who we all still really want to hate-his PR team must be pulling a heck of a job. Darn you for trying to become a mildly empathetic character!