I am officially leaving the SWAC fanfic world, and now entering THG world. This fic is also up on my tumblr account so If you've read this before, that's why. This oneshot is basically Peeta's POV of The Reaping in the first book of the trilogy. Hope you guys like it! ;)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own THG. That is all.
-Peeta-
I walked slowly towards the line. It's just another year. I reminded myself. Of all the people in that bowl, it's unlikely I will get picked. Especially since my name is only entered once. Being the son of a baker, we don't need to sign up for the tesserae. We have enough food.
The odds are in my favor.
After registering, I finally took in the area. It was the same as always. Hundreds of girls and boys from District 12, in front of a stage, desperately wishing their names won't be drawn. I can see the nervous looks in everyone's eyes, the panicked expression.. I can see them, yet I don't mask them.
I won't get chosen. People from The Seam are usually the ones chosen. I don't know if it's rigged or not. Besides, I don't know anybody from The Seam.
Except for Katniss Everdeen.
I remember the day I first saw her. She was about five years old. Her hair was divided in two plaits running down her sides. She was wearing a creme colored dress. She strided in our class with confidence. We were kindergarten then. One look, I knew I was a goner.
The teacher asked her to sing. She smiled and confidently walked in front, sat on a stool, and sang.
I was enthralled by her voice. Mesmerized by how beautiful she is. I was five years old.
I saw her everyday at school since then. Walking home with her plaits bouncing lightly. Years gone by and her plaits became one. A one-sided braid resting lightly on her right shoulder. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
She was twelve when the incident happened. I was baking bread, focusing on the heat, but I was too distracted. I heard about the news. There was an explosion in the coal mining factory. And Mr. Everdeen, along with the other workers, was in the middle of it,
I wonder how she's holding up? I wonder if she's okay? I was in a daze, completely distracted when I felt the heat touch my hand. I stepped back, flinching. I heard my mother scream at me, scream words I couldn't understand. Don't blame me, I was twelve. She instructed me to feed the bread to the pigs. I glanced out the door and saw it was heavily raining. Gathering the breads that I accidentally burned, I walked out. I saw a figure stumped against the tree. I knitted my eyes, trying to figure out who it was. All I can see was the braid. The braid I was familiar of. Slowly, I saw her clearly. I saw her expression; tired, hungry, depressed even. I stared at her eyes, her beautiful gray eyes, and saw nothing but despair. I looked down and realized I was holding a bread. A burnt bread that could probably save a life. I was twelve, but I knew I was in love with her. Maybe then I didn't know it was love, but I felt something for her. Something that made me
throw the bread in her direction and not the pigs. She was surprised at my sudden kindness. To be honest, I was surprised too. I never talk to her. I was intimidated, not only by her beauty, but also of her braveness. Her strength. I looked at her for the last time before I went back inside. And I swear, I saw a glint of hope in her eyes.
"Welcome, Welcome!" Effie Trinket's voice was heard throughout the area. She was an unusual girl, with an odd colored hair and a familiar accent.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Oh the irony of that sentence. There is nothing happy about the Hunger Games. Nothing. Especially knowing that the person you're in love with your whole life is minutes away from probably getting picked to fight to death for entertainment.
No, the odds are in my favor. She won't get picked. I can't think like this. I won't think like this.
She continued, "And may the odds be ever in your favor."
Indeed it is. It is in my favor.
A few more minutes passed by of scripted explanation on how The Hunger Games began. And then, it's time.
"Ladies first!" her shrill voice rung out.
I gulped. I watched her as she moved her hand slowly inside the bowl. As if she was enjoying this. She shouldn't enjoy this. I wonder what's going on in her head right now. Knowing she is responsible for this children's death. She was the one who drew their name.
After a long wait, she went back to the microphone holding the name of this year's female tribute.
The odds are in my favor.
The odds are in my favor.
"Primrose Everdeen."
Relief crossed my face for a second. Until I recognized the name.
"I volunteer!"
I closed my eyes tightly.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Her voice as clear as day.
I opened it, and there she is. Standing in the middle, besides two peacekeepers. Katniss Everdeen.
I felt the color drained from my face. Katniss is this year's female tribute.
Katniss, the same girl I've been in love since I was five.
Katniss, the same girl who I helped that one day in the rain.
Katniss Everdeen. That's two words describing my whole life.
I watched her as she walked up the stage. The escort asked her what her name is. And she answered in full confidence. Even though I can feel my whole life crash before my eyes, she never ceased to amaze me.
Another memory quickly entered my mind. It was one day when I was walking around The Hob. I was greeting people, smiling at everyone. Everybody knew me as the baker's son. And I was proud of it. Then she entered. Like ten years ago, she entered with confidence. And like ten years ago, I was astounded. She was wearing her father's old beat up jacket, some trousers, and shoes. Her hair was braided again in her special braid. On one arm, she was clutching a bag that I'm guessing filled with her kills for the day. I remember watching her that day, watching her as he communicate and exchange with the others at The Hob. I also remember her making eye contact with me even if it was just for a second.
Then it hits me.
Katniss is a hunter. She's a fighter. Sure, killing people might be a lot more different than killing animals but in more ways than one it was the same. She can win this. And when she does. She's gonna come home here. Live a peaceful life at one of the vacant houses at the Victors' Village. Maybe, I'll even have the courage to talk to her then. Maybe things will work out.
I didn't even have a chance go relish the idea of me and Katniss.
"Peeta Mellark."
Everybody stared at me. I stared back at them too. Grief was painted in their expressions, and shock was painted in mine.
I was escorted up the stage with two peacekeepers, like they did with her.
As I walk up those stage and meet her eyes, only one thought enters my mind.
If I'm gonna die in this games, then I want one thing to happen. No, not want. Need. It's my dying wish. Keep Katniss Alive.
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xoxo, bianca.