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“And that was the end of the war?” Erzsébet asked sadly, in the way all children do, when they know full well how something ends, but still hope somehow it will be different for the story’s sake.
“Not quite,” her grandmother said, “Wars are not so easily ended, and we are not a people that ceases to fight simply because we have been beaten. No, the war still goes on even today, for once a year the districts do battle against the Capitol, and every year we of One send out two of our greatest warriors to fight in it.”
Erzsébet puzzles over this for a minute before she asked, “Do you mean the games? But that’s not fighting against the Capitol, it’s a game, and we’re fighting the other districts.”
“Ah,” her grandmother said, “But think, Erzsébet, how many these tributes the Capitol demands are killed by the games themselves, by the Capitol, and if all the tributes in all the districts chose to hold hands and refused to fight? Well, the Capitol would not stand for that, would it? No, this is still war, it is only that the Capitol demands that we fight on its terms, and every year it kills twenty three young soldiers, and takes one as hostage. Never let the fame and fortune of the victors blind you. Look for the brokenness in their eyes. They are imprisoned as surely as if they had been taken down to the deepest, darkest dungeon and locked away forever.”
“But that’s not fair!” Erzsébet cried with the righteous fury only small children can muster.
“Oh, little one,” her grandmother said, “Who ever told you that fights were fair? Every year we fight and every year we lose, and it is never fair. But still, every year we fight. Remember that, child, we in One will never stop fighting.”