Analyzing a Tragedy: Sunrise on the Reaping

I bet you were taught a lie in school…

You know that triangle—exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, resolution? It’s called Freytag’s Pyramid, and it’s plastered on classroom walls across the country. This is usually named the Plot Pyramid or the Story Mountain. But what no one told you is: this model can’t possibly describe every type of story.
And that’s because of one big problem—falling action.

When I first started teaching junior high English, I relied heavily on the Plot Pyramid to help my students understand how stories work. I hadn’t heard it called Freytag’s Model yet—but I understood the concept: every story has a beginning, a build-up of tension, a turning point, and an end.

But falling action always threw me off. It was explained to me as the “tying up of loose ends”—kind of like an extended epilogue. But if that’s the case, why does it take up half the triangle?

It didn’t make sense—until I discovered the truth.
This model doesn’t describe every story.
It describes one type of story.
A tragedy.
And once you understand that, the falling action suddenly makes perfect sense.
And no—it’s not about tying up loose ends. It’s about watching someone fall.

In this video, we’ll look at how tragedy really works. We’ll break down why the heart of a tragic story is built around a lie—and use Sunrise on the Reaping to explore that idea through Freytag’s model.

We’ll look at how Haymitch Abernathy believed he could beat the Games—why that lie destroyed him—and what we, as writers, can learn from it.

And at the end, I’ll give you a writing challenge that will help you build your own tragedy—one that hits as hard as Macbeth, Anakin Skywalker, or The Hunger Games.

Let’s get into it.

---

What is a Tragedy?

A tragedy isn’t just a sad story. It’s a story where the hero loses—usually in a dramatic and devastating way.

But this isn’t a random twist ending. The hero doesn’t die suddenly in the final battle for no reason. That might happen in real life, but in fiction, everything needs to be earned. A tragic ending has to be set up—and that setup always centers on one key thing:

A lie.

Aristotle called this huh-MAHR-tee-uh, or a fatal flaw that often, but not always, is a misjudgement that leads to the protagonist’s downfall.
It’s something false the protagonist builds their choices around. It might be a lie they tell themselves, or one the villain plants in their mind. Either way, it’s believable enough to guide their actions… and wrong enough to destroy them.

The audience often sees this lie for what it is. We recognize the flaw. We see the danger. We can sense the inevitable crash that’s coming—but the character can’t. Not until it’s far too late.

That’s what makes tragedy so powerful.
It doesn’t pull the rug out from under us—it lets us watch the fall in slow motion.
And because audiences have been trained to believe the hero will always win, when they don’t… it hits even harder.

Like all great stories, a tragedy also carries a theme—a deeper message the author wants us to walk away with. And often, that theme is revealed in the moment the lie unravels.

Before we break down the tragedy of Sunrise on the Reaping, let’s look at a few classic and modern examples to see how this plays out.

Examples of Tragedies Built on a Lie

Let’s look at two powerful tragedies—one modern, one classic—where the protagonist’s downfall is driven by a lie they believe.

Modern Example: Anakin Skywalker (Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith)

“Fear of loss is a path to the dark side.”

In Revenge of the Sith, Anakin Skywalker is haunted by visions of Padmé dying in childbirth. He turns to the Jedi for reassurance—but they give him none. That’s when Chancellor Palpatine, secretly Darth Sidious, feeds him a devastating lie:

“If you join the dark side, you can save your wife from death.”

Anakin, desperate to control the future, believes him. And in trying to prevent Padmé’s death, he causes it. His obsession with control is his downfall. He sacrifices his morals, his order, and his identity—only to destroy the very thing he wanted to protect.

This is a textbook tragedy:
 

A false belief → a chain of terrible choices → a devastating fall.

Classic Example: Macbeth (Shakespeare)

“All hail, Macbeth, that shalt be king hereafter!”

Our classic example comes from Shakespeare, who else? In Macbeth, the titular character is given a prophecy by three witches: he is destined to become king. But instead of waiting for fate to unfold, Macbeth believes this prophecy means he should take the crown by force.

He thinks achieving power will bring him purpose—but instead, it kills him.

Driven by ambition and fear, Macbeth murders his way to the throne. He loses his honor, his wife, By the end, he’s a shell of the man he once was, and then he’s murdered and his head his presented to the new King of Scotland, but that’s what you get for trusted witches. 

These stories work because the lie is clear. The audience can see it. We know what’s coming. But watching a character spiral toward destruction—unable or unwilling to stop it—is what makes tragedy so compelling.

Now let’s apply this lens to Sunrise on the Reaping—and see how Haymitch Abernathy’s lie nearly destroys him.

The Heart of a Tragedy — The Lie

Tragedy is personal. It’s not just bad luck or fate—what makes a story truly tragic is when a character’s downfall comes from trusting the wrong idea, the wrong person, or the wrong worldview.

That brings us to Haymitch Abernathy.

Sunrise on the Reaping — Freytag’s Pyramid Breakdown

Let’s review Sunrise on the Reaping with an emphasis on the lie that Haymitch keeps telling himself until it leads to his ultimate downfall. Now, I’m not going to go over every plot point in the novel, however, if you haven’t read it- spoilers ahead. Let’s start with- 

Lie Haymitch believes: “I can beat the Capitol at their own game. 

From the moment he’s chosen at the Reaping, Haymitch accepts that he’ll probably die. But he’s determined to make that death count. He believes that if he’s clever and strategic, he can outsmart the Capitol, break the arena, and in doing so, turn himself into a symbol of District rebellion.

But the Capitol doesn’t play fair.

We see this early on when they rig the Reaping. Haymitch’s name isn’t even drawn—he’s forced into the Games to cover up the murder of the original District 12 tribute. The Capitol manipulates the footage using a delay in the broadcast, rewriting the narrative in real time.

This is Haymitch’s first real lesson:
The Capitol always controls the story.
The Games aren’t just physical—they’re rigged at every level, and the Capitol always comes out ahead.

From this moment, the reader understands- if you’re paying attention- that you can’t beat the Capitol at their own game. And, this is the lesson that Haymitch has yet to learn. So, let’s break down the beats of Sunrise on the Reaping using Freytag’s Model of tragedy. 

---

1. Exposition

Haymitch Abernathy is a 16-year-old growing up in the poverty and oppression of District 12. It’s his birthday—the same day as the Second Quarter Quell, a twisted anniversary that turns the Hunger Games into an even crueler spectacle.

He’s in love with Lenore, his Covey girlfriend. Haymitch doesn’t have power, but he has a family and a girl he loves—and that’s something the Capitol can’t take from him, right? At least, that’s what he believes.

---

2. Inciting Incident

The Reaping is disrupted when a tribute’s escape attempt ends in his televised murder, forcing the Capitol to orchestrate a cover-up. During the ensuing chaos, Haymitch defends his girlfriend Lanore from a peacekeeper and is subsequently forced into the Games as District 12’s tribute, despite his name not being drawn. He joins three other District 12 tributes—Louella McCoy, Maysilee Donner, and Wyatt Callow—an unusually large group due to Quarter Quell rules. Haymitch feels suspicious of the wealthy and bullying Maysilee, but that relationship will evolve to highlight Haymitch’s flawed belief in the lie that he can beat the Capitol. 

---

3. Rising Action

During the chaotic opening ceremony, the District 12 carriage crashes, killing the youngest tribute Louella McCoy. 

After Louella’s death, Haymitch carries her body toward the President’s box and spits into the crowd.

It’s a moment of defiance—and it gets attention. Sponsors notice. But so does the Capitol.

Haymitch partners with another tribute, Ampert and together with Maysilee they build an alliance and promise to protect the non-career tributes. However, Ampert and his father Wires, reveal to Haymitch a secret plan to destroy the arena by blowing up the main water tank. 

Now, the thing we should note about this plan is that Wires and Haymitch are falling into a self-made trap. This plan is flawed by pride. They think they can make a stand and they’re willing to sacrifice Ampert to do so. It’s a cruel decision you expect more from a character like President Snow. Speaking of… 

Haymitch is summoned to meet with President Snow. Snow delivers a veiled threat. He reminds Haymitch of the Capitol’s reach. He gives Haymitch a choice in the games— die quickly or suffer an agonizing and public death. Snow makes veiled threats towards Haymitch’s family as well as Lanore. These are threats that Haymitch seemingly ignores, a decision that will come back to haunt him. At the time he believes only his life is at risk, and this he understands.  

Haymitch doesn’t expect to win. But he wants to make his death mean something. To embarrass the Capitol. To go out on his own terms. 

This is an evolution of the lie: that you can lose the way you choose. That if you’re clever enough, your death can still matter. That you can beat the Capitol at their own game.

---

4. Climax

In the arena, Haymitch abandons his alliance and partners with Ampert. He’s ashamed of this act but believes it is necessary. Together, he and Ampert smuggle explosives in and use them to damage the Games’ central water tank. But the sabotage barely slows anything down. Ampert is torn apart by mutts in retaliation—punishment not just for him, but for his father, Wires who believed in the same misguided lie that Haymitch does. 

Haymitch is ambushed by the Careers, but is unexpectedly saved by Maysilee. 

Maysilee, unlike Haymitch, protected the other tributes. She stays true to her alliance, and herself.  Haymitch and Maysilee partner, agreeing to create “posters” or acts of defiance against the Capitol, but Haymitch secretly clings to the idea that he can destroy the arena. 

They burn their way through a hedge maze with a blowtorch and discover a power plant at the bottom of a cliff. A vulnerable artery of the arena, protected by a forcefield. Haymitch starts planning how to destroy it.

But Maysilee’s priority is different: she wants to find Wellie, a younger tribute who’s still alive somewhere in the arena. She doesn’t want to win. She wants to protect the weak.

That’s her rebellion—not playing the Capitol’s game, but refusing to become what they want her to be- a killer. 

Haymitch goes along with her, but deep down he’s still chasing something else. Still trying to find the pressure point that will make it all matter. He’s chasing symbolism, a grand gesture. A lie.

Then something unexpected happens.

They spot a group of Gamemakers near a manhole—clearly doing field repairs. It’s not a staged event. The Capitol workers don’t expect tributes to be here. The final two careers arive, and for a moment, both sides freeze. For a single moment all the tributes are confronted by their true enemy, and for once that enemy is actually vulnerable. 

Then Maysilee and one of the Careers act.

They kill the Gamemakers.

The illusion cracks. The people running the Games aren’t untouchable, and when the Districts unite their true strength is revealed. 

And Haymitch?

He doesn’t move.

Because even now, he’s fixated on the power plant. He’s convinces he can hit the Capitol where it hurts—if he just gets it right.

But he’s missing what’s right in front of him.

A real blow. A real act of defiance.

And he hesitates.

Because deep down, he still believes the lie. Maysilee sees this and she judges him for it. 

In the Chaos a smoke bomb scatters Haymitch, Maysilee and the careers. 

In retribution for the Gamermaker’s murder. Mutts attack and kill Maysilee. Haymitch holds her as she dies. Haymitch finds Wellie, but leaves her to find food, giving the last Tribute a chance to kill her. 

Haymitch discovers the Career with Wellie’s body. He fights the last Career, Silka, at the cliff’s edge. Both are injured. But Haymitch tricks Silka into throwing a weapon at the forcefield. It rebounds and kills her.

He’s declared the winner.

But the Capitol is the only true victor. Haymitch is not a rebel. They’ve turned him into a killer. They made him play the game. 

Still clinging to the idea of rebellion, Haymitch uses the last of his strength to throw a bomb at the power plant. The explosion causes a blackout and momentary panic in the Capitol. But nothing changes. The Games are over and the Capitol has won. 

5. Falling Action

Falling action is where we see the protagonist suffer the consequences of their misguided belief. 

After the Games, Haymitch is held prisoner in the Capitol—kept in a luxurious apartment, but treated like a trophy. At parties, he’s paraded around in a gilded cage—a cruel joke and reminder that even victors are still prisoners.

When he’s finally allowed to return home, he finds his house in flames. His mother and brother are dead. Haymitch is devastated, but at least he has Lanore. Right?

He reunites with Lanore, and she finds the gumdrops he  bought for her before the Games—the ones he asked his brother to deliver.

Haymitch feeds her one, only to discover, too late, that they’re a different color than the ones he bought. 

They’re poisoned.

The Capitol switched the gumdrops. They turned a gift of love into a weapon. And they made Haymitch the Lanore’s unwitting executioner. Just like in the arena, they’ve forced Haymitch to kill.

This is when Haymitch finally understands: he never had a chance. His cleverness, his plans, his sacrifices—they were never enough.

The Capitol was in control the whole time.

---

6. Resolution

Haymitch isolates himself. Drinks. Builds walls no one can scale. The clever, sarcastic boy who thought he could beat the system becomes the jaded man we meet in The Hunger Games.

When he finally begins to open up to Katniss and Peeta, it’s not strategy he shares—it’s cynicism, and a bitter wisdom:
You don’t win the Games.
You just survive them.
And even then, you keep losing.

Because even though Haymitch escaped the arena he never left the games. 

---

How to create a Theme fromTragedy 

Let’s talk about Haymitch’s greatest sin: abandoning his alliance at the start of the Games.

Before the arena, Haymitch, Ampert, and Maysilee form a pact with several weaker tributes from the outlying districts. Many of the smallest, youngest tributes look up to Haymitch—cling to him, even. He calls them his doves. He promises to protect them.

But it’s a lie.

As soon as the Games begin, Haymitch runs—leaving them behind to die at the Cornucopia while he pursues his mission with Ampert. Every one of his “doves” is slaughtered. It’s a betrayal, and it haunts him. And it’s foreshadowing. Because the person Haymitch loves most is his girlfriend, Lanore. Her nickname? Dove.

Maysilee, on the other hand, has no secret agenda. Like Haymitch, she doesn’t expect to survive—but she stays loyal to the alliance. She tries to protect the others as best she can. But when the Capitol unleashes a manufactured volcano, it wipes most of the remaining tributes out.

When Maysilee finds their bodies, she doesn’t give up. She sets off to find Haymitch and a surviving younger tribute named Wellie.

While Haymitch is chasing the lie—that he can martyr himself in some grand gesture that embarrasses the Capitol—Maysilee is doing something quietly radical. She’s refusing to play the Capitol’s game. She’s protecting the weak. She’s proving that the districts have power when they stand together.

And when Maysilee gets her chance to strike back, she doesn’t hesitate. She kills the Gamemakers. She takes her stand.

In the end, it’s Maysilee—not Haymitch—who sends the real message with her death:

You can kill me.
But you didn’t change who I was.
You didn’t beat me.

---

The Lesson — From Tragedy to Revolution

Maysilee’s message is  resurrected through Katniss and Peeta who teach us the opposite of Haymitch’s lie:

You don’t beat the Capitol by being clever.
You beat them by valuing people and connecting with each other. 

That’s what makes Sunrise on the Reaping a tragedy: not just the death and pain—but the lie that Haymitch believed… and the cost of learning the truth too late.

---

Writing Challenge — The Lie That Destroys

Challenge: Write the opening of a tragedy.
Start with a character who believes a lie. Not a villain—but someone who wants something good, and believes they can get it through the wrong means.

Answer these questions

1. What do they want more than anything?
   
2. What false belief do they hold about the world or themselves?
   
3. How will that lie shape their choices?
   
4. What will they lose before they finally realize the truth?
   

Let’s see what you come up with! Also, I want to know- do you agree with me? Is Haymitch a true rebel? Or, just a misguided doofus who got everybody killed? Let me know in the comments!

---

How to Write a Tragedy in 8 Steps (Built Around a Lie)

If you want to write a tragedy that hurts—the kind readers can’t shake—it helps to build it around a lie. Not a plot twist lie, but a deep, internal belief your main character clings to. Something that feels true to them… but isn’t.

Here’s how to build that kind of tragedy, step-by-step:

1. Start with the Lie

Decide what false belief your character holds. It should feel reasonable—even noble. Something like:
“If I control everything, I can keep the people I love safe.”
This lie will drive their choices. And eventually, it’ll break them.

2. Create a Character Who Needs That Lie

Your protagonist should have a good reason to believe the lie. Maybe they’ve seen the world punish people who act otherwise. Maybe they’ve suffered loss and built their worldview around avoiding it again.

This belief is their armor—but it also makes them vulnerable.

3. Show the Lie in Action

Let the audience see how the lie shapes the character’s choices. Maybe it gives them confidence. Maybe it helps them succeed—at first. But you should also start dropping hints that this belief isn’t as solid as it seems.

4. Introduce a Challenge That Tests the Lie

Every tragedy needs pressure. Force the character into situations where their lie is no longer working—but they double down anyway. They push harder. Trust the wrong person. Make the wrong call. And they keep going, because they have to believe the lie still works.

5. Let the Audience See the Truth

Even if the character can’t see it, the reader should. This is what creates tension. The audience starts hoping the protagonist will change course… and dreading what will happen if they don’t.

6. Deliver the Breaking Point

This is the moment of no return. The character makes a choice—one that feels right to them but leads to disaster. This is the climax of the lie. The point where belief and reality crash.

7. Make the Cost Personal

The fallout shouldn’t just be external (failure, loss, death)—it should be intimate. What hurts most is what the character loses inside: trust, hope, identity, a relationship they thought they could save.

That’s the emotional punch of a true tragedy.

8. End With Clarity… or Not

You’ve got two options:

• Clarity: The character sees the truth too late. That hurts.
  
• Blindness: The character still doesn’t see it. That hurts differently.
  

Either way, the audience walks away with a deeper understanding of the truth—and how dangerous the lie was all along.