(sawyer) i'd give all my oxygen to let the flames begin

[burnwithus]

”It’s supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war.”

Taking a life is easy. A simple pull of a bowstring and a moment’s pressure and it’s gone. I learned that the hard way during the Games, because the dead never really leave you. I pace around the perimeter of my room, waiting for my name to be called. Remembering the girl from District Four. Cato and Glimmer and Marvel and Rue. They’ve been with me all this time, and it would be wrong to forget them now. We fought each other during the Games because we had to, but I never hated any of them because we were all the same. They weren’t the enemy. The Capitol was. Snow was my enemy and had been for a very long time.

So why was I having second thoughts now?

Images flash before my eyes. Just one, played over and over again until I’m sure it’s burned into my retinas. The parachutes going off. Prim being engulfed in flames. The angry, red raw scars all over me are a reminder, even though I don’t think I’ll ever forget. President Snow tortured Peeta. He instituted the hateful Hunger Games. He killed Finnick and Boggs and all of the others. He should die. But I can’t help but remember what he said.

I inspect the length of my arrow, routinely checking for sharpness like I have so many times before. It’s a special occasion, but no one’s even suggested that I practice, and I doubt it’s because of their faith in me. I pace the room some more, resisting the urge to scratch at my new, fire-mutt skin.

Two peacekeepers are at my door before I realize what’s happened. I’m marched out onto a narrow stage, still marvelling at my prep team’s ability to make me look somewhat normal despite my patchwork skin and singed hair. There are crowds all around me, and the entire thing is being aired all over Panem, but my gaze is locked completely on the bright red rose on Snow’s lapel as he sits in a chair ten feet away from me. They’ve tied him up for display, because it’s obvious to everyone here that he isn’t going anywhere.

The crowd hushes. They’re waiting for me. I remember the flash of the bombs as they ignited and remember Gale’s hand in making them. I remember President Coin’s insistence that we have another Hunger Games. I don’t trust her. I know she’ll turn out to be worse than Snow ever was.

Drawing my bowstring, I release the arrow upwards in one smooth motion. President Coin falls to the floor from the balcony above, dead. There’s pandemonium as everyone tries to process what it is I’ve done and why I’ve done it. Biting down on the secret compartment of my Mockingjay suit, I release the purple nightlock pill, ready to swallow it before any of the guards can get to me. I bite down on Peeta’s hand instead.

“Let me go!” I scream above the noise. Doesn’t he know what’s going to happen to me? As the assassin of Panem’s future president, none of my prospects look good. The pill- Cinna’s last gift to me - falls to the ground.

I’m staring down at sand and Peeta’s gone. All of the crowds are gone too.

Shaking, I wipe his blood from my mouth.