Peeta Mellark PART ONE continued...

I am snapped back into reality by the beeping of the oven coming down from the kitchen, indicating that something was done baking. I'm overwhelmed by the smell of freshly baked bread and suddenly I begin to remember what day it is. Reaping day. The day where the pigs are chosen for the slaughter. Would I be one of the unlucky two? Or would I be spared for one more year? A chill runs through my spine, causing me to shiver. I put on the clothes my mother laid out for me. Beige slacks and a light blue button down shirt. An outfit only worn on special occasions; somehow the capitol has warped people into actually considering this day as a special occasion instead of viewing it, as it really is, an execution. A tool created to punish the districts for rebelling 74 years ago. A reminder to the people that the capitol has complete control and everyone else is helpless to stop them.

I run down stairs into the kitchen grab an apron and look toward my father for further direction. He points to the cakes I have to ice. I’m very thankful for this, since icing the cakes is one of the very few things that can actually take my mind off the reapings, not to mention it’s something that I’m actually good at. When I begin to paint the intricate patterns and delicate flowers onto the cakes, my mind enters a new realm. I feel almost at peace.

Suddenly my realm of peace is interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. My father goes to the door opens it slightly and then quickly looks around to make sure my mothers out of sight, she hates when my father illegally trades with people from the Seam. (Luckily she’s out running errands.) Once the door is fully open I see a tall older boy dangling a squirrel by its tail in front of my father; I instantly recognize the boy, i don't know him personally, i think his name is Gil or Gale or something. He's often seen around with Katniss. They hunt together. Some people think that they're cousins, since they look like they could be related, but other's say that he's Katniss' boyfriend. None of the girls at school believe it though, they always talk about how good looking he is. "Too good for Katniss Everdeen." But they are always seen together down at the hob (the black market in district twelve), and sometimes about in town. I don’t know what to believe, I mean it’s pretty obvious the girls just say this about Katniss because they’re jealous, but could they still be right? Maybe that boy and Katniss are just cousins.

Regardless, I can’t help but to look at him with disgust. Tall, ruggedly handsome, olive skin, and grey Seam eyes. My heart pangs with jealousy; I try to go back to icing the cakes but it’s hard to concentrate. My father trades a fresh loaf of bread for that grotesque squirrel. He must’ve been feeling generous today, given the circumstances. “Nice boy.” My father whispers, I just shrug and pretend not to know who that “nice boy” was.

Peeta Mellark PART ONE continued...

I go about the rest of the day icing cakes and making dough until 1 pm. that’s when we have to leave for the reapings, which begin promptly at 2.

My whole family, Strucla, Barley, my parents, and I, all head down to the square which is decorated with colorful banners and flashing lights, as if this were some sort of celebration. But, we can all feel the grimness in the air.

I’m the youngest of my brothers, Strucla’s seventeen, and Barley’s twenty. While Barley's no longer eligible for the games, you can tell that he’s just as scared as the rest of us. My oldest brother comes up to me and pats me on the back trying to calm my nerves, he and I have always gotten along well. Barley's very protective of Strucla and me. He’s my father’s favorite; I think Strucla’s always resented him for that. I don’t mind too much. If I were my father I’d probably favor Barley too, he’s the best of all of us. Tall, strong, athletic, smart, wavy blond hair similar to mine, and bright blue eyes just like my fathers.

Strucla doesn’t really get along with anyone. He constantly picks fights with my father and Barley. I try to stay out of his way most of the time. Even though Strucla and I aren’t on the best of terms, the thought of him getting chosen for the games makes me sick to my stomach.

I look at Strucla and study his face, he doesn’t seem too nervous but when he talks there’s a tremor in his voice. “Peeta, there’s nothing to worry about you only have your name in the bowl 5 times and I’m only in six times.” He’s trying to be strong but the panicky look in his eyes isn’t fooling anyone. He continues “I’m sure many of the other boys from the Seam have their names in at least 20 or 30 times. The odds are defiantly in our favor.”

This is true. The capitol offers the districts something called tesserae. It is a year’s supply of grain and oil for one person in exchange for their name being added to the reaping bowl more times. Some kids have to buy multiple tesseraes so that they can feed their entire families. So that means that kids like Katniss Everdeen, have a much greater shot at being chosen as a tribute. However kids like me and Strucla who have enough money to survive, only have to put our names in the bowl the minimum amount of times depending on our age. I’m very aware of that fact that this whole system is completely twisted. Just another example of the capitol favoring the rich and screwing over the poor.

Peeta Mellark PART ONE continued...

My family takes our time walking to the square, in no rush to get there early; we finally arrive shortly before 2. Cameras are stationed all around the stage, that was temporarily set up before the Justice Building, in order to capture this monumental moment for all of Panem to see. The whole town is there, all 8 thousand of us. Attendance is mandatory unless you’re on your deathbed. We sign in before we enter, one of the last ones to arrive.

There’s barely any room left, Strucla and I try to squeeze through the aloof crowd into our designated areas. The oldest are stationed in the front, since they have a greater chance of being chosen, and the youngest in the back. Luckily Strucla and I are meant to stand in pretty much the same area but we’re eventually forced to separate to make room for the masses of people filling in. He gives me one last look before he fades into the crowd and for the first time in a while I get the sense that he actually cares for me. I shuffle into a group of all the 16s and find five of my friends from the town, Jackson, Emmet, Janice, Attalla, and Burghen all with the same somber expression. They glance at me and I nod. This isn’t much of a social hour.

Promptly Mayor Undersee begins by reading a speech I’ve heard hundreds of times about the capitol’s version of the history of Panem. I’m sure there’s much more to the story than the little that we’re told but, no one in their right mind would dare to alter this perfectly constructed archive, which, conveniently manages to turn all the blame onto the districts making the capitol seem almost magnanimous.

I doze off as he begins to explain all about the dark days and the Treaty of Treason, which resulted in the Hunger Games. I’m awoken by the drunken cry of Haymitch Abernathy, the only remaining victor of district 12. There have only been 2 altogether in all 73 years of the hunger games. He’s really let himself go. While only about 40 years old, he could pass for at least 50, aged by nightmares of the past and drunkenness. Paunchy with matted blond hair and an unkempt beard, living breathing proof that you can never truly win the hunger games. Even if you’re spared your body, something dies inside of you, slowly poisoning your mind until your nothing but a walking corpse. Maybe it’s better just to die in the arena.

A smile forces itself onto my face when Haymitch begins harrassing the notorious Effie Trinket, the hunger games escort for district twelve, fresh from the capitol. He falls onto Effie and sloppily wraps his hairy arms around her in a druken embrace. She may have some potential to be attractive if it weren’t for her gaudy capitol clothes, garish pink wig, heavy makeup, and unnaturally white grin that makes her look like a freakish clown. Effie looks so disgusted by Haymitch’s grimy fingers I’m sure she has half a mind to run in those painful looking high heels straight back to the capitol. I actually laugh out loud.

The mayor looks distressed, aware of the fact that district twelve is about to become the laughingstock of Panem. Once Effie’s is able to release herself from Haymitch’s grasp she staggers into the center of the stage grabs the microphone from the mayor’s hands and squeals “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” in that ridiculous capitol accent of hers. “What an honor it is to be here in district twelve!” She exclaims a little bit too enthusiastically. I roll my eyes because I know that she really hates it here. What capitol citizen wouldn’t? She must just be dying for a promotion to a better district. Unfortunately that does not seem to be in her cards, not unless district twelve can bring home a victor.

“Ladies first!” Effie says once it’s time for the drawing, as she does every year. She really needs some new material; all of her usual Hunger Games antics are getting pretty old. She crosses the stage to the glass ball housing the names of all of the girls in district 12, ages twelve to eighteen. I, a long with the rest of district 12, hold my breath as she digs her hand into the ball and draws out a slip of paper. Which young girl’s fate will this seal? I silently pray that it’s not a girl I know. What if it’s Janice? Or Attalla? Or Katniss. Effie Trinket trots back to the podium, her ridiculous pink wig bobbing as she goes. She smoothes out the slip of paper, could she do this any more slowly? A name is read. “Primrose Everdeen.”

At first I take a small sigh of relief. At least I don’t know this girl, right? And then suddenly the name Everdeen rings in my ear. Everdeen, Everdeen, Everdeen. Katniss Everdeen. That’s Katniss’ little sister. I see a very frail looking twelve-year-old child. Her face pale, drained of blood. Her hands clenched into tiny fists. The image of absolute terror lies in her blue eyes. She stiffly walks toward the stage.

Peeta Mellark PART ONE continued...

“Prim!” A strangled cry is heard from the audience. “Prim!” this time louder and more assertive. I’m pushed back as Katniss runs through the audience and makes her way to the stage. She clutches her sister’s arm and forcefully pushes the feeble child behind her. Her light grey eyes are wild with desperation and disbelief, and then I grit my teeth in anticipation of what she will do next. “I volunteer!” she shouts, almost out of breath, as if she doesn’t believe that anyone will hear her otherwise. Suddenly, the look of terror in her eyes changes into something else, something I can’t quite pick up on. Maybe the realization of what just happened, of what she had just done. Her face turns to stone, I no longer detect any sign of fear, she had made her decision. “I volunteer as tribute.” She states in an even voice.

There are muffled gasps from the audience. I pinch my self on the wrist to make sure this isn’t another one of my nightmares. But no, this is as real as it gets. Katniss Everdeen, the girl who hasn’t left my head since I was five. The girl who I’ve been in love with since I can remember, but to whom I’ve been too cowardly to speak. Why haven’t I even attempted to speak to her in the past? Why have I only let myself admire her from a far for so long? Maybe it’s because I was scared? Of Katniss or my mother? Maybe I was too arrogant to want to be seen with a girl from the Seam? But that can’t be it. Then what? Now the girl standing on the stage with her dark braided hair, olive skin, grey eyes, blue satin dress that hangs loosely against her frail frame, and scarsely heard singiing voice that still lingers in my mind, will be hauled away just like a pig for the slaughter. She will be imprisoned in an arena and be forced into a fight to the death with 23 others. And now I’ll never get to say to her what I’ve been keeping inside my head for 10 years.

The little girl, Primrose, is screaming now. She frantically grabs onto Katniss but, is yanked away by Katniss' boyfriend who traded with my father this morning (i'm pretty sure his name is Gale), he whispers something I can’t make out, and then takes the girl to her mother.

Once Katniss introduces herself to Effie, not one person claps. We’re not about to give the capitol the satisfaction of watching us celebrate this hideous event. One by one everyone begins performing the district twelve hand-motion, usually only used for funerals in order to say goodbye, this is the first time, to my knowledge, that this has ever been used at the reeping. I touch the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and then hold them out in admiration and remembrance of the bravery of Katniss Everdeen.

Next thing I know a drunken Haymitch begins to harass her as he did Effie, making Katniss incredibly uncomfortable. “Look at her! Look at this one! I like her! Lot’s of spunk!” He slurs. “More than you!” He points to the cameras, my guess is that he’s addressing the capitol, pretty gutsy. I start to feel some admiration for the poor guy when he plunges off the stage knocking himself unconscious. I shake my head sympathetically. This is what the capital does to you.

Now Effie scampers to the center of the stage desperately trying to call attention away from Haymitch, “What an exciting day!” She shouts in attempt to silence the murmuring of the crowd. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!” My stomach drops as I attempt to mentally prepare for what is to come. I look at Katniss Everdeen standing awkwardly on the stage unsure of what to do with her hands. What boy will join her to be hoarded to the capitol and readied for the slaughter? While trying to keep her fluffy pink wig from falling off of her head with one hand, the other takes the first slip from the glass ball that it encounters. She goes back to the podium and reads the name so quickly that I’m caught off guard when I hear her say “Peeta Mellark!”

Peeta Mellark PART ONE continued...

Suddenly I feel like there are a million eyes on me, burning a hole right through my flesh. I see the horrified expression on Attalla’s face, we’d been friends since we were kids. I don’t look her directly in the eye in fear that this will set off the tears i'm desperatly trying to hold back. I try my hardest to remain calm but I can’t hide the terror in my heart as well as Katniss can. The crowd begins to split creating a path for me to walk to the stage. I feel like I’m in a dream, nothing seems real. My whole body is numb. It’s almost as if I’m watching another stocky, medium sized boy with blond hair and blue eyes plow through swarms of people toward the stage, while i'm in a distant, safer place. I don’t know how I got my legs to move but before I know it I’m walking onto the stage.

My eyes meet Strucla’s and for a split second I have a twinge of hope that he’ll volunteer for me as Katniss did for her sister. But the thought exits my mind as quickly as it enters. I know he won’t. He loves me, but sometimes sibling devotion can only go so far. And even if he did have the courage to volunteer, I wouldn’t want him too. I’d feel tremendous guilt. I don’t know what would be worse; to actually be in the games or, to have to watch one of my loved ones in the games.

I look over in disbelief at Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. This is worse than having to watch her on a screen because now I’ll not only be helpless to save her but the one trying to kill her. It’s almost comical what rotten luck I have. Almost. Those intense grey eyes pierce my heart and turn me to stone. Another thought hits me; maybe this is my chance to finally be with Katniss, even if just for a little while. But what if it were to come down to the two of us? I shake the thought from my head. It won’t. I’ll be long gone before it comes down to the final two. But I think I’ll have to try anyways. To win. For my father, Barley, Strucla, my friends, even my mother.

But would it be worth it in the end? To kill a bunch of innocent people just to end up like Haymitch Abernathy? This is all too much for me. I look down at my hands and realize that they’re shaking uncontrollably. Then I remember that all of Panem is watching me right now. Great. There goes my chance for any sponsors. I try my hardest to quickly compose myself.

I attempt to just concentrate on the mayors reciting of the Treaty of Treason. Once he finishes he motions for Katniss and me to shake hands, our eyes meet for a brief second. She seemes perturbed, as if the thought of seeing me has genuinely disturbed her. Maybe she does remember me after all? But what does it matter. In a few weeks we’ll be forced to fight each other to the death, and Katniss Everdeen is a hunter. She won’t falter for a second before killing me. I can’t blame her can I? It’s not like I’m anything more to her than the baker’s son who she’s maybe seen once or twice around school or in town.

Her hand is warm in mine. Strong and tough from hunting and single handedly keeping her family alive. This is the hand of a fighter. I wish I could hold it in mine forever. I squeeze it tightly in attempt to comfort her and to let her know that I’m on her side, that everything will be okay. She looks confused. We turn to face the crowd, the anthem of Panem plays.

My head is swarming with questions whose answers are locked away somewhere deep in the burrows of my brain. Should I just forget about all my feelings for Katniss? Should I protect her? Should I try to win the games? Is it even worth it? Then my mind goes to my father and Barley. Strucla and my mother. Jackson and Atalla who have been my best friends since I could walk. They must all be so devastated. It must be hard to lose a son, a brother, a friend this way. I wonder if my mother will react the same way she did when she lost Rye. Maybe she’ll go crazy. I begin to feel sick; everything’s just a huge blur for here on out.

End of Part One.

Peeta Mellark PART TWO



Next thing I know I’m hauled off to the Justice Building and ushered into a small lavishly decorated room. I’m seated onto a velvety purple couch and left alone to await my goodbyes. I take the time to look around for a minute until my family and friends come in. It’s extraordinary with it’s colorful antique lamps, thick, deep carpets, clear painted walls, portraits, and numerous pieces of artwork, or at least it would be, if it weren’t just a fancy jail cell. This must be what the capital’s like. I can only imagine how this place must look to Katniss whose been living in a shack for her whole life. It’s almost infuriating when you realize that all the money that went into decorating this place could feed the entire population district twelve for at least two weeks. And what purpose does it even serve? It feels like a prison, the first stop on the journey to my inevitable death. A complete waste of time and money.

It is not really my place to complain about how poverty-stricken district 12 is, considering the fact that my family is actually deemed very well off compared to the rest of the district. But everyday, I see people from the Seam on the streets dying of starvation, peacekeepers picking up the dead bodies as one would pick up trash. Just because I’m not starving doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to what goes on. And the truth of the matter is, my family is probably not as well off as people might assume that we’d be since my father is a baker. We never actually get to eat the good stuff; we survive mainly on the leftovers. But I’m very thankful to at least have food, even if it’s stale. It is quite difficult, I must admit, to stare at the freshly baked bread, feel the warmth from the oven radiate off your skin, and have to resist eating it until the end of the day, once it’s stale and cold.

My family walks into the room along with Jackson, Attalla, and a few other friends from school. My mother’s hysterical. Despite how terrible she is to my brothers and me, the sight of this breaks my heart. She was driven mad by her loss of Rye, and now she’s about to lose me as well. Forced to sacrifice me for of the purposes of the capital’s entertainment. What will this do to her? I know that she loves me even though she has a very… unconventional way of showing it. I run up and hug her. She pulls me in tight and I feel her tears soak into my shirt; I pat her back reassuringly as tears start to fog my vision, I blink and they come rolling down my cheek. She pulls away and says hoarsely, in a somewhat cheerful voice, “Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner.” Then under her breath, almost as an after thought, I hear her mutter, “She’s a survivor, that one.” And then I know she isn’t talking about me, she’s talking about Katniss.

Before I can react, Barley rushes up to me, he’d been crying to. “Maybe you can win little man!” He says punching me on the shoulder playfully. An uneasy laugh escapes from my throat “Don’t count on it Bar, you’d have a much better shot at this than I do.” He looks me directly in the eye, his are all swollen, “Listen to me man, your strong, you’re a hell-of-a wrestler, and you’re the smartest out of any of us, the only thing you don’t have is confidence. You think you have no chance but you do!” Tears start flooding from his eyes “I can’t lose my little brother! Not like this. So promise me you’ll at least try, okay?” He pulls me in tightly. “Barley” I can barely make out. “Barley these games, they change you, even if I do win… I won’t be the same, I don’t, I can’t-“ He cut’s me off mid-sentence “They won’t Peeta, not to you, you’re not Haymitch Abernathy, your stronger then him, you can survive this.” I just nod, there’s no use fighting him on this, but no one is immune to the games.

Next, I say goodbye to Strucla. He’s not as emotional as Barley. Instead of crying, his face just turns to stone. Suddenly, his solid expression breaks into something of a smile for what only lasts a brief second, as he says, playfully, “When you’re back, get ready for me to kick your ass in the wrestling competition again!” At once, I realize how hard this is for Strucla. We’ve never been close; in fact we barely even speak. Nevertheless, We’re still brothers, and in the end that’s all that matters. “You’re on!” I say. We smile at each other.

Next thing I know Attalla jumps onto me. She’s hysterical. Her whole face is swollen and soaked with tears, her eyes are red and puffy. Then Jackson comes and joins in on the hug. We’ve all been best friends since we were toddlers. Attalla’s father is the Butcher and Jackson’s mother and father own district twelve’s main tailoring shop. Attalla tries to speak but chokes on her tears. “Come home Peeta.” Jackson says. Attalla kisses me on the cheek and they’re forced out of the room.

Now it’s just my father and me. We have barely a minute left. He hands me a very old, withered, greenish coin. I don’t recognize it. It’s engraved with the profile of a woman with long flowing hair. On the top I can make out the word Liberty. “It’s been in our family for centuries. It can be your token” He reads the confusion on my face and explains further, “It used to symbolize freedom. You can never forget who you are. They will never own you, not as long as you hold onto your freedom.” I place the coin on my palm; it’s rough and decayed at the surface, light, yet incredibly heavy in my hand. “I can’t let the capital see this.” I say, tucking it into my pocket. There’s a knock on the door, peacekeepers enter and tell me that my time is up. I hug my father, he smells like bakery cookies, I look down and realize he is holding a bag of them. “Are those for me?” “Um, no they’re for-“ he’s forced out by the peacekeepers before he can finish his sentence. And I’m left alone.