Hello! So, I enjoyed writing about Katniss & Peeta so much, that I've decided to take on a rather large project; I'm going to (attempt to) re-write the entire Hunger Games book, but from Peeta's perspective. I've always been kind of interested in what Peeta's take would be on all of it, so I decided to try writing it myself. You guys let me know what you think in a review, though; if it's not interesting or something, I'll drop it. xD I'm sure it has been done before, but oh well. But anyways, I'll follow the chapters in the book, so it's easier for both you & I; which means there will be... 27 chapters? However many there are in the book. xD & the chapters will be as long as I write them, only breaking at chapter breaks. Which means the word count will be monstrous. xD
ALSO, I'd like you guys to vote on something semi-important: for the scenes where 1) Foxface dies & Katniss discovers Peeta had nightlock, & 2) the final nightlock/suicide-threat, where they were going to both eat the nightlock... should I do those two scenes based off of the book or movie? I'm mostly going off the book, but I wasn't sure on these two. For Foxface's death, I liked the movie-version, where Katniss is super worried about Peeta & she's like, "You scared me to death, damn you!"; but in the book, she's mad at him, & I don't like that as much. I also liked the movie-version part where Peeta reaches out for Katniss' braid just before they were about to take the nightlock. I was all like, ":')". Anyways... feedback would be awesome!
Sorry for the long A/N. xD Anyways, enjoy, & let me know what you think on the above things! (: & remember, this is all from Peeta's POV. C:
I wake up to the warm sunlight wafting gently through the window next to my bed. I sit up groggily and rub my eyes, trying to force them to get used to the bright sun. I slowly walk over to the window and open it slightly, peering out and breathing in the still-cool summer air. It would have been a picture-perfect day... if it weren't the day of the reaping.
I sigh heavily and trudge over to the small trunk at the other end of the room, where the few clothes I do have are stored. I rummage through it, trying to find something nice for the reaping. I soon pull on sand-colored slacks and a light blue button-up shirt. The fabric of the almost-white shirt is thin, which is good; though it's nice out now, it will surely get warmer as the day passes.
As I get dressed, I can't help but think of Katniss. Katniss Everdeen is the girl that I have had a crush on for the past 11 years. I know I shouldn't be thinking of this now, but I let my mind drift briefly back to the day I first saw her. I was only 5 years old, but I remember it clearly. She wore a red plaid dress, and her long, dark hair was tied back in two braids instead of one; they bounced slightly as she walked to school. I also remembered her singing in music class; the teacher asked us who knew the Valley Song, and her hand shot up in the air faster than I could blink. She sang it beautifully, and everyone applauded. In that moment, I swore that- just like her father- all of the birds outside fell silent, listening intently to Katniss' voice. I knew from that day on, that she would always be special to me. I'm not going to say I automatically loved her, but I always did like her.
I watched her walk home every day for 11 years; and every day for 11 years, I failed to work up the nerve to talk to her.
I shake my head to clear my mind, knowing that I shouldn't be thinking of a girl on a day as serious as the reaping. I finish buttoning up my shirt before stepping out into the dimly lit hallway and into the kitchen.
My mother glances up as I walked in, but says nothing as she returns to whatever she was doing. My father must be busy with something else, because he isn't in the room. The younger of my two older brothers is sitting at the table, already dressed in his reaping clothes. He sits silently nibbling on a piece of dry bread. The silence was unusual for him, since he was usually a big talker. I quickly concluded it was nerves; although this was his last year to be reaped, he was as fair of game (pardon the pun) as anyone in that reaping ball... to some extent, anyways. The only greeting I received was from my eldest brother, who is too old now to be reaped.
"Hey, Peeta," he says warmly, giving me a slight smile. "You look nice,"
"Thanks," I say nervously, walking over to the kitchen sink and moistening my hands so I could pat my hair down.
My oldest brother was always the one nicest to me; my other sibling took more enjoyment in either teasing me or simply not talking to me. I was used to it, so I ignored it most of the time; but it was still nice to be talked to fondly by your own family.
I only have time to briefly scarf down half a piece of hard bread before I hear the horn, signifying that those whose names are in the reaping ball should hurry down to the Justice Building. I silently follow my brother out of our house, keeping pace behind him as we wind through the dusty streets of District 12. Around us, we can see mothers making their final clothing and hair adjustments on their nervous child as they prepare to head off to the same location. I briefly half-wish my mother had fussed over me that way, but I knew from the start that she wouldn't. I am fairly positive she hates me and everyone else around her; how she is still married to my father- who is a polar opposite of herself- I did not know.
We continue to walk in tense silence until we reach the square, where people are already bustling around. We will have to separate here; he will go off with the other eighteens, and I will walk over to the group of sixteens. As we approach the place where we have to part ways, he unexpectedly turns around. Surprised, I almost walk right into him, but stop myself short just in time.
"Peeta," he says hesitantly, almost awkwardly. His eyes shift nervously, and I detect a flash of what I think might have been fear; but it was gone as quickly as it came.
"Uh, yes?" I reply, a bit taken aback that he was even addressing me, let alone in a soft manner. The brief flash of fear I had seen just seconds ago still haunt me a bit, but I push the thought away and look him in the eyes. This could very well be some sort of joke; he always did like to play jokes on me. I decide to keep my guard up, crossing my arms instinctively across my chest.
"Look," he starts, shifting his weight uneasily; "I know I pick on you a lot, and we're not particularly best friends," He looks down briefly, before tilting his head up again and meeting my gaze. "But good luck," he finishes. He reaches out and gently squeezes my shoulder before turning and heading off to his group.
I stand in momentary shock, almost not believing what he just said to me; but I quickly shake it off and approach the table where Peacekeepers sit, pricking fingers to take blood and add it to their registry. I hold my hand out and a brief zap follows, but I barely notice it. My eyes are focused on Katniss, who is kneeling beside her nervous-looking younger sister, Prim, whispering something to her. Katniss dawns a light blue dress that falls down just past her knees, and her hair is braided back in some fashion which is too complex for my understanding of female hair. Prim wears a weathered blue dress as well, that looks so worn it is almost white. I vaguely remember Katniss wearing that dress, too, on the morning of our first reaping as 12-year-olds.
Prim's name has a very, very minuscule chance of beaing reaped, considering this is her first reaping. But she still looks understandably anxious; probably somewhat for herself, but also for her sister's safety.
I walk over and take my place by the other male sixteens. I steal a quick glance at Katniss, who is now mouthing something to someone several rows behind me. I look back to find Gale Hawthorne mouthing something back to her, coaxing a laugh out of Katniss. I am stabbed with a momentary needle of jealousy over how close they are and what they must have together, until I remember that this is the reaping; the reaping, for God's sake. There was no time for thoughts about my love life.
I stand and watch silently and tensely as thousands of other people flood into the square; parents, siblings, and potential-tributes themselves all stand restlessly, fidgeting with something or other. I turn slightly and crane my neck, squinting to see if I can make out any of my family. My older brother- who had been actually talking to me minutes earlier- stood soundlessly by the group of male eighteens, staring straight ahead and talking to no one. I notice my father and eldest brother filing in towards the back, and they meet my gaze, giving me a reassuring nod and smile. I smile back, then turn around again to face the front.
Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, is stirring anxiously next to Mayor Undersee. I briefly register him as Madge Undersee's father; I had often seen Madge with Katniss at school. They didn't talk much, but that seemed to suit them just fine.
Effie's make-up coated face is almost scary-white; a complete color contrast to her pink-ish hair and bright green suit. In the midst of the light blues and grays of District 12, Effie looks desperately out of place. She doesn't seem to notice, though; and if she does, she doesn't care.
Soon enough, President Snow comes strolling out the doors of the Justice Building and begins to talk. He tells things about the history of Panem, which used to be called North America. He talks about disasters and war and the Capitol, which apparently 'rose up from the ashes' and 'brought peace and prosperity to its citizens'. Yes, because I'm feeling so peaceful and prosperous at the current moment. He drones on and on about our history, then moves on to actual talk of the Games. I tune most of it out, as I have heard it every year for the last several reapings, and I really don't care to hear it again. It's probably better that way, anyways; all it normally does is piss me off. I just fail to see how sending 24 kids off to fight each other to the death until one remains, with the near-entirety of Panem watching, is of any use at all. I'm sure there are 'reasons', but to me they just seem like stupid excuses disguised as legitimate reasons.
Snow calls the names of the only two victors from District 12. The one still living, Haymitch Abernathy, staggers onto the makeshift stage. He is drunk, and not just had-a-glass-too-many drunk; I mean full-on, probably-drank-a-whole-vineyard's-worth drunk. In his drunkenness, he is confused by the applause, and tries to bear-hug Effie. She side-steps and disentangles him with some struggle. She clears her throat, clearly flustered. I glance over at the Mayor, who quite frankly looks mortified. Understandably so, considering this is currently being broadcasted live to the collective citizens of Panem.
At last, President Snow shuts up, and Effie Trinket strides boldly to the podium.
"Happy Hunger Games!" she calls into the microphone. She is overly-cheery, and flashes the crowd a pearly-white smile. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She continues in the same almost-annoying bubbly voice, saying something about how much of an 'honor' it is to be here. Despite her masqueraded enthusiasm, I think everyone knows she's lying; she'd much rather have been assigned to a more glamorous District.
"Ladies first!" Effie calls valiantly, trotting over the the girls reaping ball. She reaches in and digs her hand in, rummaging blindly around for a few seconds, before sharply pulling a strip of paper form the glass sphere.
She strides back to the podium, holding the small strip of paper in her hand. Everyone in the square takes in a sharp, involuntary breath, almost in unison; and I swear the whole world literally stopped spinning for those couple of seconds. Please not Katniss, I beg silently. Please, just not her. Anyone but her.
She opens the paper and inhales, preparing to speak. I continue to beg silently as she calls the name.
And I get my wish; it's not Katniss.
It's her little sister, Primrose Everdeen.