Suzanne Collins owns the Huger Games and all of its characters!
A/N: Hello all!
This is my first fan fiction, so I hope you like it! I am planning to rewrite the entire Hunger Games (just first book) from Peeta's POV. I know Peeta's POV has been done three-hundred-billion times before, but I haven't seen any that cover the entire book. It's all the same dialogue, so I hope it's not boring for those who have read the book multiple times. However, I hope that you like how I write Peeta's thoughts and the parts we don't get to see when Katniss is narrating! Of course, it will be better when the Games actually begin, because for like half of that Katniss and Peeta are separated. Also, it won't be the full 300-something pages, because Peeta's thoughts are a little more condensed assuming that you already know some background info Suzanne Collins explains. (I think there's about 20 pages for every 60 in the book). Rated T for my extreme paranoia, because there's not really anything bad in this… But it might pick up when the cave comes! Enjoy!
The house is cocooned in the smell of baking bread. I breathe in, the heavy warmth working to dissipate my frantic thoughts. My nervous hands busy themselves with another batch of dough.
"You don't have to be baking this early, Peeta." My father places one of his strong hands on my shoulder.
I look out of our dirty window for the first time and notice that the sun is still brooding behind the horizon. The racks for bread are almost full.
"People are freer with their money when they learn their children have been spared." I say, and it's true. Most everyone celebrates with luxuries they normally couldn't afford- like bread. But there are always two families who close their shutters and try and block out the world- praying that the arena doesn't swallow their children whole.
My father just grunts.
We're really alike, my father and I. Blonde hair, broad build. But my father, inexplicably, loves a woman I have resolved to hate. He still vacates any room she enters. But I can tell he loves her because he holds her at night, and cries like something's been lost. I think that my mother used to be kind. I guess I'll never know what changed her.
I regard my father. Tired eyes, scarred hands from years at hot ovens. He's a man who doesn't like to waste words. I trust those hands, and I trust every word that comes out of his mouth. My father. One of the only people I love.
And then I'm thinking about her, and the heat from the ovens doesn't stop the cold fear from creeping into my mind. Katniss. She'll have 20 slips this year, you can count on it, because she would've started taking tesserae from the start. And here I am, with only 15, strong and full most nights. And I don't even worry about my slips, or Thom's 21, because Katniss is the girl I love.
I turn around to address my father, urgently, looking for some sort of guidance. "Did you ever have… anyone you cared about reaped?" I ask him.
He seems to struggle to find the right words. "I thought… I thought I cared about them. But If I did, I would have found some way to bring them home."
I wish I hadn't asked.
But then I think of something, something I cling to like the last crust of bread between me and starvation.
I'll save her. If her name gets called, whatever I do, I'll save her.
I start working out a plan, my mind humming with urgency. If she gets called, I'll volunteer for the boy. I'll follow her to the arena, and my dying wish will be to bring her home.
My father taps the back of my hand lightly, and I loosen my grip on the piece of crumpled dough.
"Try and get some sleep Peeta." He says.
I wish I could frost a cake to further calm my nerves, but we only make them as ordered because they're too expensive. My limbs feel heavy as I climb back into my bed. Eventually, I manage to fall asleep.
My eyes flutter open to the sound of the bakery door chiming to signify the arrival of a customer. I can tell by the light that it can't be much later than when I fell asleep. I slowly rise and pause behind my door, where I have a full view of Gale Hawthorne as he greets my father. Immediate resentment floods through me, but I stand silently to watch their exchange.
Gale pulls a squirrel from his game bag and moves to offer more, but my father's hand stops him.
"That's enough." He says, and hands the young hunter a loaf of my bread.
Gale looks at him appreciatively and turns away.
"Good luck." My father tells him, and then he's gone.
I flee back to my bed. The bread must be for Katniss, I know they always spend reaping day together. I want to follow after him and tell him to make her happy on a day when she must be so worried for her sister. I want him to hold her for me in the way she allows only Gale to hold her. I could have so much to say to him, Gale Hawthorne, but we never speak. But, that's understandable.
Gale and I have never been particularly good friends.
A/N: I hope you liked it!
Satisfied reader: Ooh, reviewing sounds like a good idea!