Alternate Ending to Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

So I kinda gave up on the story I was previously working on on this blog. But this last week, I decided to take up a new and shorter challenge. I read Suzanne Collin's trilogy called The Hunger Games. I was entranced, ensconced in the reading position for two weeks straight, going through the three books. At the end of Mockingjay, I felt a major letdown! I couldn't just leave these characters as they were! It bothered me for several days....until I Googled this phrase, "alternate ending to Mockingjay." Surprisingly, several readers who were disappointed by the ending decided to take up their hand at writing and creativity to make the ending they wished Mrs. Collins had provided for them. I read through several alternate endings, still not quite satisfied.

Then I asked myself, "What's keeping you from creating your own alternate ending to this amazing trilogy? One that will enable you to have closure to this epic tale and help you to move on and function normally in life?!" So I did it!! Here's my version of the end of Mockingjay. I have bolded Collins's writing when I've included it in my ending.

Be forewarned! If you have not read these books, do not proceed in reading this entry until you have!!

So here it is!


Beginning top of page 382
I fall asleep on the sofa in the formal living room……

I wake with a start. Pale morning light comes around the edges of the shutters. The scraping of the spatula continues. Greasy Sae scrambles some eggs on the stove.
Over the eggs, I ask her, “Where did Gale go?”
“District Two. I see him now and again on the television. Up at the Nut. They’re making progress on restoring it to its old uses” she says.
“Oh” I dig around inside of myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief.

He finally gave up on me. My old friend has moved on.I don’t blame him. Who would want a crazy person as a lover anyway? I’ll never be fully healed, and he could never sympathize with me. He never entered the Games. The games, if you survive, forever change you , isolate you. You’re never the same. No one will ever understand. Yet, I’m wrong. Two alive to relive the horrors with me, Peeta, Haymitch.

I shake my head to rid my mind of the horrors beginning to creep in again like old friends. The world blurs, but my eyes catch a gleam from out the window, a spot of yellow. No. Two spots. I stand and rush to the window. Two new dandelions, side by side have sprung up in the grass. The first ones this spring as I scan the yard. My mind flashes back to that first dandelion I spotted after the boy with the bread saved my life and offered me the hope to live on. The boy with the bread. Something inside me sparks. I feel a warmth, small but penetrating, burning. A small flame, sunset orange. I squint, refocus on those yellow petals, and burn the image into my mind. I don’t fully understand, but I know this is what I must hold tightly to if I am to continue to live. Adrenaline, my old friend, drips slowly into my veins. I breathe deeply. But all I smell is roses.

I begin to tremble with weakness and anxiety. I frantically look around the room for the source of the reeking rose. Then I remember. I run up the stairs. My foot catches on the last step and I crash onto the floor. I force myself to rise and enter my room. The smell’s very faint but still laces the air. It’s there. The white rose among the dried flowers in the vase. Shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse. I grab the vase, stumble down to the kitchen, and throw its contents into the embers. As the flowers flare up, a burst of blue flame envelops the rose and devours it. Fire beats roses again. I smash the vase on the floor for good measure.

Back upstairs, I throw open the bedroom windows to clear out the rest of Snow’s stench. But it still lingers, on my clothes and in my pores. I strip, and flakes of skin the size of playing cards cling to the garments. Avoiding the mirror, I step into the shower and scrub the roses from my hair, my body, my mouth. Bright pink and tingling, I find something clean to wear. It takes half an hour to comb out my hair.
I stumble downstairs and feed the clothes I had shed to the fire. At Greasy Sae’s suggestion, I pare off my nails with a knife….. Once washed, dressed, and fed, I suddenly long for the outdoors, for the woods.

“I’m going hunting today,” I say.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind some fresh game at that,” she answers

I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out……I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn’t matter, though. The fence isn’t charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I’m so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it’s too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale’s in 2, doing some important job rebuilding infrastructure for our new government. He’s made his decision, he has quietly bowed out.

My ears perk up before I realize there is someone else in the woods with me. I scan the trees, my heart beats a little faster. I stay sitting as my head already begins to pound. I pluck an arrow and settle it in the bow. Then I listen. Someone walking, irregularly. Then it stops. I hear chopping sounds. No, they’re more muffled. I swivel my body around, with my arrow in my line of sight. A lone beam of light through the canopy lands on the back of a person, tall and lean, digging, using his real leg. Peeta. My heart skips a beat. I drop my bow and arrow to the ground. I stand up too abruptly and my head begins to spin. I moan and sit back down.

Peeta hears my moan and turns in my direction. He shades his eyes from the beam of light and squints. I see the recognition in his face. His mouth saying my name. I fling my hands to the ground to retrieve my weapon and aim it at him. Real or not real? Peeta drops his shovel and slowly opens his hands to show he has nothing to hide. I lower my arrow. He begins to walk towards me. Loudly, as always.

He’s about 3 yards away when he opens his mouth to speak. “I think you should stick to smaller game. You’re not in that great of shape to be carrying home 180 pounds of meat on your own.”

My bottom lip cracks as I unconsciously turn one edge up. “You’re the boy with the bread here in my woods. Real or not real?”

Peeta takes a few steps closer, his blue eyes clearer than the sky, the fogginess gone. “The boy with the bread is here. Real.” He says quietly and thoughtfully. .

“You’re back,” I say.

“Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says.
I scan his face. Beads of sweat form and course down his temples. His face is flushed from digging.

“Is this rock taken?” Peeta asks motioning to the empty spot, formerly taken by Gale. I stare at the gray rock, cold, empty, still, and waiting.

“No, it’s not taken.”

Peeta moves and gingerly sits down, our arms almost touching. The blond hairs on his arm tickling my arm. I want to think it’s irritating but it isn’t.

I motion 30 yards away towards Peeta’s dropped shovel.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask

“I came out to the woods this morning. I found some primrose bushes over there by that evergreen tree. I thought I could dig them up and plant them along the side of the house. For her. For you.”

My heart wrenches at the name of my sister. But the hope in his voice immediately calms me.

I look up at him, and he is looking right into my eyes, into my soul. He knows me. His eyes flit away. I can’t pull my eyes away from him. I see the burn scars by his ear, down his neck. I touch my own in almost the same place. He knows my pain. I know his. And yet he knows more than I. He knows how to heal the pain. My rudimentary healing knowledge pales in comparison to his innate knowledge of the healer’s art.

Peeta stares at the ground between his knees. Sitting on Gale’s rock. And yet this rock seems to fit Peeta better. My hand reaches out and gingerly brushes a blond curl out of his eyes.

“Thank you” I say. He closes his eyes, and then opens them to look at me.
He reaches out his hand and gently brushes a tear off my cheek I never knew was there.

As our hands lower, they naturally meet at our sides, clasping. His strength and warmth enter my weakened palm and slowly, gently fill my arm, coursing over my shoulder through my ribcage, meeting the flame in my heart, and igniting it. The flame is brighter. Yellow.

Peeta says, “Come.” He stands and pulls me with him. We slowly walk hand in hand toward the evening primrose bushes growing snugly below an evergreen tree.

One bush has been dug up but three more remain surrounding the evergreen’s base.

“In memory of Prim, I would like to keep these primroses here," I say. "A quiet place just for her, to come to any time she wishes. In memory of Rue, too.”

“We can plant this one by the front door of the house.”

A flashback to the woods where Rue died transports me, but only for a moment to remember the song I sang as I dropped flower petals around her. I begin to sing….for Prim, for Rue, for all the others who died because of me, because of the Mockingjay. The one who lives on. Peeta places an arm around me. One mockingjay lands on a branch of the evergreen and stops to listen. A ray of sun shines down on us.

As my song dies out, the spurt of energy that began with the dandelions fades away. The flame burns low. Peeta and I limp back to our homes.

I find the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the shafts of the afternoon light. Small hope fading away.

Continue reading on Pages 385 to 388


From page 388

Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me and eventually his lips.

One night, after a particularly horrible nightmare, I find Peeta’s arms around me again.

“Sometimes I don’t know how I can go on,” I weep as I clutch him fiercely.

Peeta looks deep into my eyes again, but this time they don’t flit away.

“You must go on. If not for yourself, then for others. You don’t realize how much power you have to make a difference. To affect others. Do you realize the power you have over me? You have forever changed me. I had a crush on you since I was five, but now, forever am I linked to you, because of what we’ve been through together. But it’s more than that, I need you. We share the horrors. We share the pain. And I know we can help each other share hope, and even joy.”

Tears course down my cheeks. He begins to gently kiss them away. Our arms pulls us closer. My lips find his. I begin to feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach. I realize this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

Peeta suddenly pulls away and whispers, “You love me. Real or not real?”

I tell him, “Real,” as I lean into him, into my safety, always.


One Year Later

I place the last dandelion in the vase with the primroses. I set the vase by the window.

I hear a soft knock on the door.

“Are you ready?”

“I think so,” I say.

The door opens and it’s Peeta. He looks well, his scars fading. He has filled out this year, his strength returning. His smile comes easy today, and mine follows. He takes my hand and pulls me into him. He senses my tenseness and looks into my eyes.

“What is it?”

An old familiar fear attempts to grip my heart. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m ready to stand again where I did a year ago as I broke into a million pieces.” I remember the moment I attempted to kill myself by nightlock after shooting Coin. Peeta’s hand taking the bite instead. I look down at his hand, a white curved scar lines it now. I caress it gently. “I don’t want to ever go down that path again.”

“Same here. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Just remember Rue’s song.” He’s right, the song about the meadow and being safe from harm I have sung so many times I can’t count anymore. It calms my flashbacks and brings me back to the present.

We head downstairs. Haymitch has surprised me this time. He’s on the sofa, and mostly sober.

“Hey sweetheart.” He doesn’t say it with sarcasm but with an understanding, taking us both in. “Here we go again, more ceremonies. Are you ready?”

We all look tentatively at each other, but we know it’s the right thing to do, for the people of the new Panem.

The new presidency has decided to make a new holiday, the first holiday of our new country, to celebrate our freedom from war and our new-found peace. We meet in the village square and await our hover craft ride to the Capitol.

We arrive at the Capitol where Octavia, Flavius, and Venia all squeal and come running towards us hugging me and Peeta. Haymitch,not so much.

We separate to our various dressing rooms. I rinse and dry myself off and Flavius drapes a robe around me. All three are inspecting me. I inspect them back. There is definitely more peace in their eyes. And they’re smiling giddily.

“Oh, so much better than a year ago,” Octavia giggles nervously as she inspects my skin and scars.
Venia holds my hands gingerly running her fingers over the scars.

“How should we do your nails this time? Crème, natural or gold?” The consensus between the stylists is glittering gold.

Flavius shampoos conditions moisturizes and trims my hair. He smiles as he notices the improvement in my hair regrowth. He attempts my mother’s braided crown, and manages to pull it off beautifully despite the shorter length of my hair.

Octavia pulls out a simply shaped shimmering golden gown in a style Cinna would’ve approved of.

They attempt a natural look over my face and add a few golden highlights around my eyes and cheekbones.

I inspect myself in the mirror. I am a dandelion covered with dew and sunshine. The transformation seems to mirror my inner change over this past year. I smile timidly enjoying the enhancement. Unusual for me.

They pin an evening primrose by my collarbone.

I hear a knock at the door. Peeta pokes his head through the door. There’s a glint in his eyes as he walks in. He’s wearing a tan suit with a tie that glows yellow at the top and fades into orange at the bottom. He wears an evening primrose on his jacket as well.

“You look stunning,” Peeta says as he envelopes me in his arms and spins around. I smile up at him and he kisses me gently, cutting it off short. “Don’t want to ruin Octavius’s work.” He aims a smile in Octavius’s direction.

He pauses and then addresses the stylists, “May I have a private moment with Katniss?”

I exchange quizzical looks with the stylists. They stumble over each other exiting the room.

Peeta lifts his polished hand and takes mine in his. With his other hand he reaches inside his coat pocket to reveal a small wooden box painted with flowers.
I gasp.
He grabs a velvet chair and sits down pulling me onto his lap. I must look like I’m about to faint.

Peeta hands the box to me and I open it. Inside a pearl graces a golden band. I gasp again as I recognize the pearl.

“I thought I had lost it!”

Peeta beams, “I know. You were devastated, but I knew you would recover.”

I caress the pearl with my fingers as I had done so many times when there was no other hope to hold onto.

“Katniss, will you be my bride?” I look at him and know there’s no other for me.

“Now and always,” I reply.

He slips the ring onto my finger and we forget all about my hair and makeup.

A knock at the door signals it’s time to go. We hurry to the mirror to smooth back any flyaways and erase any smudges. We stand side by side in the mirror, positively beaming. Holding a secret that is only ours for a few more moments.

We walk hand in hand down the corridor following the stylists whispering to each other. Haymitch stands at the end of the hall, his beard trimmed. He wears a brown suit with a primrose on his lapel. I see a smirk hiding below his facial hair.
“So what did she say?”
The stylists stop dead in their tracks and stare intently at us.
Peeta trying to hold back his smile says, “She said yes.” More squeals and hugs attack us.
When the whirlwind is over, I look at Peeta. “You two keeping secrets from me, again?”

Peeta smiles and shrugs. “It was only necessary.” But I somehow can’t stay mad at them.

Plutarch meets us on our way to the front doors of the mansion. “Oh I love the look! So peaceful! Just what we need today.”

The City Circle again runs over, spills people down the side streets. Officials. Once-rebels-turned-citizens. Victors. Guests of honor fill the seated section on stage, my mother positively glowing, Annie and her baby with a head full of auburn curls. Effie Trinket as colorful as ever. Paylor at stage center. Plutarch sits beside her. On her other side sits Gale. Gale? No. Gale and Delly. My hand goes to my mouth. I squint at Gale. His anger lines have faded. He’s smiling. Delly holds his hand. Wow, what opposites. The boy so angry, hating people with the girl so happy, loving everyone.
I dig around inside myself to find anger, sadness, jealousy. But I find elation.

Peeta and I find our seats by my mother. I look out towards the deafening crowd. I find Cressida and Pollux waving in my direction and smiling. I wave back at them and catch a glimpse of myself on the television screen. A grown woman, so changed from the one at her first interview before the first Hunger Games. Back then she was angry, attempting to be courageous for her mother and Prim. So surprised by the boy with innocent blue eyes and blond curls confessing his crush on her before the world. How the two of them have grown together is a journey of a thousand tales.

President Paylor stands up at the podium and the crowd greets her with unrelenting cheers. Once the crowd quiets, she begins,

“Today we begin the celebration of our first annual national holiday. Our Independence Day.” More cheers emit from the crowd.

“We have all fought for this day. Many of us have died for this day, and many of us live on because of this day. Our day to declare our peace and freedom from war and senseless killing.”

“In deciding what our new national symbol should be we took into consideration the one who represented hope to us all in the midst of hopelessness: Katniss Everdeen.” Paylor motions for me to stand up. The crowd erupts in cheers louder than before. “Katniss is still our mockingjay. Before the war, the mockingjay represented the rebel’s cause. But the mockingjay never ultimately represented rebelliousness. It represented resiliency in the face of all obstacles, it’s goal, peace. So, today, Katniss is our mockingjay of peace.”
Paylor grasps my hand and we lift our arms into the air. The crowd follows raising their hands into the air as if taking flight.

“I would also like to present to the nation our first national monument and memorial.” Paylor walks me over to a towering veiled monument. “Katniss, you may do the honors.” I tug at the golden silk to unveil a golden statue of a mockingjay taking flight clasping an evening primrose in its beak. The statue rests on a tall plaque with the names of those who died defending peace. “May you take a moment of silence to read the names of your loved ones, never to be forgotten for their valor and honor.”

The tv screen rests on the long list of names for several minutes. I find the names of the dead. Cinna. Boggs. Finnick. Prim. Tears spring to my eyes. Peeta’s family. The players of the last 75 Hunger Games. The list goes on.

Paylor whipes tears from her eyes and continues. “Would all the guests of honor please rise.” People dressed in white and gold hand each of us a golden cage with a mockingjay inside. Without thought, I whistle the four note tune of Rue’s to signal the end of the workday. The mockingjay listens and begins repeating the notes. The other caged birds mimic the tune harmonizing with each other in rounds. As the song dies out, I unhook the cage door. The bird only takes a moment to realize its means of escape and takes flight. The other birds are released into the sky circling higher and higher until they are gone. But two remain.

Two mockingjays circle above the capitol buiding singing a tune I recognize. I look around trying to find the singer the birds are mimicking. I finally find my mother humming and watching me with tears in her eyes. I can no longer hold back the tears. Peeta finds my hand as I begin to sing quietly the words to the tune:

From page 389:

Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it’s safe, here it’s warm
Here the daisies guard you from harm

Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.