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I. Anne Carson, H of H Playbook / II. Aeschylus, Aeschylus: The Oresteia / III. Richard Siken, War of the Foxes / IV. Sainticide, ??? / V. Hans Christian Andersen, The Snail & The Rosebush / VI. Jenny Slate, Little Weirds / VII. Euripides, ??? / VIII. Isaac Marion, Warm Blood / IX. Unknown
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FINNICK: I'll take care of you. ELLIOT: It's rough work. FINNICK: Not to me. Not if it's you.
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Stage One: Denial
Love is sacrifice. It's the Sinner kneeling at God's altar, split open and staining the sacred grounds with its begging. It's the Son on the crucifix, teeth bared to the heavens as he offers himself up, to save the people from the Father's wrath. It's the mother that grabs the knife, firsthand, fist around the blade, so that the child sleeping is left unscathed.
There is always someone kneeling when you think of sacrifice— wanting, waning, ripped open like fruit in God's hand. There is always surrender in sacrifice, always desperation. You would not give everything if you didn't have everything to lose. Does that make sense? The irony is almost impossible to ignore.
Love is sacrifice. Sacrifice is the words: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm doing this because I love you. & the words I'm sorry you had to do this for me. It's violence and apology, love and death, the two sides of Aphrodite's blade hand in hand. It's the knife that you plunge right into your heart, the part where you spare someone else the burden of having to rid you of your existence. It's the girl that rips out her own heart to keep her sister's safe, the one who offers herself up to the heavens to satiate their hunger for another year.
ELLIOT: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I promise I'll come back.
Promises mean nothing when love is sacrifice. You always lose something— your heart, your soul, you mind. It doesn't matter, of course, not when it's the Hunger Games. Not when it's Rain Kalomiri's life on the line. Not when there is nothing Elliot would not give to save her sister. (Seventeen is too young to die, but ten more so. Again, it's her sister.)
