5. “I think we should pray,” he says. It’s just under an hour before the start of the third Quarter Quell, and they’re saying goodbye to the sun. Johanna glances over, ready to laugh at the feeble joke, but then catches a glimpse of his face. He’s serious.
“Are you kidding?” she starts. “With everything, all the terrible things that have happened, you think there’s even a slight chance that there’s something in control of it all?”
His sea foam green eyes don’t blink. Johanna tilts her head. “You’re not kidding.”
“Think about it,” he says, “would you be doing everything you are if you didn’t believe there was something bigger than us, something even bigger than the Capitol,” and here’s where she shoots him a look saying hello, idiot, video cameras all around, but he’s still going. “I think we both know that there’s someone watching us, maybe even watching over us. I’m not sure who it is yet, but I know someone’s there.”
So she shrugs and steps closer, tentatively, and they hold hands and pray for survival. They yearn for freedom, and they hope for escape, and they pray that it will turn out okay.
Sometimes there’s nothing to do but take a step back and hope. They’ve done that, and the rest is up to the future.
1. For the first time, he’s in District 13 without her. He doesn’t like it, not at all.
In fact, right then, there’s nothing he wants more than to hold her hand. Forget the Capitol, forget the whole world--he remembers the feel of her fingers, calloused from throwing those axes every day (where’d that get her, huh? He tries to tell himself he’s not as bitter as he sounds, but decides it’s not worth it) and so familiar. He thinks back to the time they stood out in the sun, the last time they were alone together, and remembers the other thing he’d prayed for.
He’d prayed for the girl who was brave, the girl who was clever, the girl who was so strong. The girl he’d fallen in love with, slowly but surely, like riding to the top of a Ferris wheel.
revolution (of rebellion and ferris wheels) [part ii]
5. “I think we should pray,” he says. It’s just under an hour before the start of the third Quarter Quell, and they’re saying goodbye to the sun. Johanna glances over, ready to laugh at the feeble joke, but then catches a glimpse of his face. He’s serious.
“Are you kidding?” she starts. “With everything, all the terrible things that have happened, you think there’s even a slight chance that there’s something in control of it all?”
His sea foam green eyes don’t blink. Johanna tilts her head. “You’re not kidding.”
“Think about it,” he says, “would you be doing everything you are if you didn’t believe there was something bigger than us, something even bigger than the Capitol,” and here’s where she shoots him a look saying hello, idiot, video cameras all around, but he’s still going. “I think we both know that there’s someone watching us, maybe even watching over us. I’m not sure who it is yet, but I know someone’s there.”
So she shrugs and steps closer, tentatively, and they hold hands and pray for survival. They yearn for freedom, and they hope for escape, and they pray that it will turn out okay.
Sometimes there’s nothing to do but take a step back and hope. They’ve done that, and the rest is up to the future.
1. For the first time, he’s in District 13 without her. He doesn’t like it, not at all.
In fact, right then, there’s nothing he wants more than to hold her hand. Forget the Capitol, forget the whole world--he remembers the feel of her fingers, calloused from throwing those axes every day (where’d that get her, huh? He tries to tell himself he’s not as bitter as he sounds, but decides it’s not worth it) and so familiar. He thinks back to the time they stood out in the sun, the last time they were alone together, and remembers the other thing he’d prayed for.
He’d prayed for the girl who was brave, the girl who was clever, the girl who was so strong. The girl he’d fallen in love with, slowly but surely, like riding to the top of a Ferris wheel.
Johanna Mason.
If only he didn’t have to return to the ground.