I know I’m about four years behind the cool kids and totally one of those lame bandwaggoners everyone’s always complaining about, but I have an announcement. I finally read Mockingjay, the last book in the Hunger Games trilogy. It made me cry my eyes out.
I didn’t cry about *SPOILER ALERT* that first really sad thing that happened near the beginning. Or *SPOILERS AGAIN* that other super, super sad thing in the middle. I didn’t even cry at the end when *SO MANY SPOILERS ARE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW* that thing-that-is-so-impossibly-sad-it-made-everyone’s-soul-break-in-half happened. (This is how spoilers work, right?)
No, my lower lip only started trembling every time the government committed some terrible travesty. So… I cried through the whole book. By the end of the thing, I was curled up on the floor with my knees pulled tight to my chest blubbering things like, “F-f-f-freeedommm! Certain un-un-unaaaaaalienable riiiiiiiights! Katnisssss and Buttercuh-uh-uh-uppppp!”