Hi guys. This is a Hunger Games one shot I came up with last week, I was supposed to be doing my psychology home study but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. It centers around Mr Mellark, and how he felt the day of the reaping. If this gets some positive feedback, I might try one for Mrs Everdeen. I only own the plot, the incredible Hunger Games is owned by the genius that is Suzanne Collins.
I hope you guys like it.
District 12 has never been so silent. No crying children in the Seam. No rambling traders in the Hob. No shops opening up for the morning in the Town. Silence. Silence had never been so welcomed in the small district. There was fear in the air, almost tangible fear. Parents fearing for their young children, knowing there would be nothing they could do to protect them from the awful games, children fearing for their lives, not knowing whether that day would be their last in their homes, with their families.
When Mr Mellark woke up that morning, it wasn't to the sound of his wife shouting for him to get to work in the bakery, or to the sound of his two oldest sons fighting in the yard, or the pigs snuffling in their pen. It was to the sound of his youngest son, Peeta whistling the song he'd only ever heard from the late Mr Everdeen.
'Only two more reapings left to go' Mr Mellark thought to himself, thinking of his favourite son's chances of being sent to those dreadful games. He remembered the day his wife told him she was pregnant again. He was thrilled and horrified in equal measure, thrilled to have another child to complete his family, horrified to think that in twelve years, all three of his children would have their names in the reaping ball.
When his eldest son escaped the reapings he was relieved for him, and when his second son came out of the 'reaping years' as they called it, unscathed, he thanked his lucky stars. But now he was concerned. All the families in District 12 with more than two children had a higher chance of losing one of their children to the dreaded games. He couldn't bear the thought of losing any of his children to the games. He swore when each of his three sons were born that he'd never let any of them take out Tessarae, when he heard the amount of times some of the Seam children were entering themselves into the games for more Tesserae it shocked him and sickened him at the same time.
Mr Mellark was a good man, he always tried to help the children from the Seam when his wife didn't notice, giving the Everdeen girl extra bread for the squirrels she'd bring to his back door, sometimes even baking extra cookies to take to the smallest Seam children from time to time. To see the bright eyes of the tiny children when they saw the baked goods was worth all of the yells from his wife.
Mr Mellark hated reaping day. Every year, on the eve of that fateful day he'd be plagued with nightmares. They'd always be the same, the crazy Capitol woman wearing her ridiculous clothes calling out one of his son's names. He'd always wake up with tear tracks running down his face, and the echo of Effie Trinket's voice in his mind.
His family would always notice, but never commented, how could you console someone when what they're scared about could happen, with no way of preventing it?
As much as they tried to hide it, it terrified the Mellark sons to see their father so distraught over these dreams, as they all knew it could well come true mere hours after their father had dreamt it. It shook them all to their core. The odds weren't in anyone's favour when it came to the games, everyone in the districts were effected by the games, in one way or another.
He never spoke to his wife about any of these nightmares, as much as she hid it from them, she loved her sons, but she was always so distant towards them. Only she, Mr Mellark and a few others knew the reason.
The fourth Mellark child, the little girl she'd always wanted, the little girl that died far too young. She didn't even have a name before she was taken. Mrs Mellark was always bitter towards her sons, because they could never, in her mind, replace the lost little girl.
The Mellark sons were never told of their lost sister. It brought too much grief to Mrs Mellark for her to ever speak about it. She couldn't bear looking at any of her sons for too long, as it'd make her think about what her little girl could've looked like. Mr Mellark shook the thought from his head, now wasn't the time to think of her, he had to think about Peeta.
Peeta had already known someone who was taken by the games, back in the 72nd Hunger Games, Peeta's childhood friend, Sam had been reaped as the male tribute for District 12. Peeta hadn't spoken to him for years, but when Sam was reaped, the past came flooding back to Peeta, and he was terrified of losing his friend. Sam was only a small boy, his father had taught at the school for years. When Sam was killed by a District 2 tribute, Peeta was distraught. All of the children in his year at school had written letters to Sam, to be buried with his body when it was returned to District 12. That helped him cope. He spent hours in his room writing a letter. Sam's father never returned to the school after that. His wife had died many years before, so he was alone.
It wasn't until a week later when one of the teachers from the school found him, muttering to himself curled up in a ball in his wardrobe that people realised how much his son's death had effected him.
Walking around the bakery, Mr Mellark remembered the 'training' he had given to his sons over the years, giving them heavy bags of flour to carry around the bakery to increase their strength, working with the ovens to increase their knowledge of burns, teaching them how to wrestle, he even tried teaching Peeta to throw knives, but when his son managed to rip through a bag of flour and catch his ear with a knife, he decided it wasn't a very good idea to try that ever again. He laughed at the memory, making Peeta give him a strange look from across the counter.
Mr Mellark pulled Peeta in for a hug.
'Just two more left to go.' he sobbed into his son's shoulder.
Just two more left to go.