Peeta's Story- The Hunger Games spin-off

Chapter 1

The first couple of seconds are all that I get to relax and believe that this morning is just like any other morning. But that’s all they are, a couple seconds of ignorance. Still, once they’re past there’s no getting them back and I find myself longing for that ignorance as I lay in bed, not wanting to get up. Not wanting to face the day, the day that gives so many nightmares, the day we all dread and curse the place we live, the day of the reaping for the Hunger Games.

74 years ago, the 13 districts of Panem revolted against the Capitol. The Capitol who lived in luxury while the districts provided everything they might need for them, everything from electricity to food to lumber. After the revolution, district 13, the leading district of the revolt, was destroyed, leaving only 12 districts left. As a reminder of the revolution and the Dark Days that followed, every year the Capitol holds the Hunger Games. In the Hunger Games, a boy and girl tribute from each district are reaped and forced to an arena where they have to compete with each other and the elements to be the last one standing. It’s a sick, horrible thing we have to go through every year. It has become less of a reminder of the rebellion and more just entertainment for the Capitol and its residents.

Here in district 12, we mainly supply coal for the Capitol. Well, maybe “we” isn’t the best word. The people who live in the poorer part of 12, nicknamed the Seam, go to work 12 hours a day mining for coal. I was born into a more fortunate situation, my father is a baker and we live in town with the more wealthy people of the district.

While I feel incredibly lucky about my life, I can’t help but also feel guilty sometimes. Especially times when there’s an accident in the mines and so many lose loved ones, or times when I’m standing in the shop, decorating a cake, a luxury for anybody in district 12, when I look out the window and see other kids or even adults starving, sometimes even looking longingly into the window, probably imagining what a cake would taste like and how it would feel to have a full belly.

Of course, I seem to be alone in those thoughts of guilt, because when my mother sees them, she will shoo them away, muttering horrible things under her breath.

My mother really isn’t a horrible person; she just lacks compassion. She was always raised in town and has never experienced poverty or hunger. The thought of not knowing where her next meal will come from has never crossed her mind. Of course, the same goes for me too, but I am much more observant than my mother. I’ve seen the look in other’s eyes. Seen the starvation, the desperation, the utter lack of embarrassment when caught going through our trashcans. She sees this as disgusting, I see it as a last resort.

“Peeta, your father needs your help in the bakery! It’s going to be a busy morning!” my mother calls to me.

She’s right, the day of reaping is a day families will splurge. Another year of safety for their kids aged 12-18. For all of them except for two…

“Coming!” I reply before I can think about it too much. Nobody wants to think about who will be picked, well except those low-life’s without kids who place bets on who will be picked. But especially nobody wants to think that whoever gets picked will be somebody they know or love. Even when whoever is picked is not somebody I know or love, I can’t help but think that they are somebody who someone knows and loves.

When I get to the shop, I immediately wish I had waited another five minutes before coming. If I had, maybe he would already be gone.

“Thanks so much Hank, can’t wait to see the look on her face when I show her this!” Gale. My sworn enemy who barely knows I exist is holding a loaf of bread, thanking my father. I see a dead squirrel, cleaned and skinned, on my father’s counter. It did not have the usual small wound to the head, but rather a stab to the neck, probably from a knife. That’s how I know he killed it and not… her.