Hey everyone, I am starting this new story, because, 1) I was bored in class, 2) it was kind of a release for me. I needed it. So here I am.
And no, this has nothing to do with Blood Sacrifice.
Also, this story doesn't have a schedule, it will be updated whenever I feel like it, or when I feel down and depressed.
This is a short chapter, but I wrote this yesterday in like 15 minutes, so don't judge.
Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games series, or Peeta Mellark.
Beaten. Abused. Fragile. Weak.
That was the case of the young blonde blue-eyed boy sitting in the dark closet, hugging his knees. His swollen jaw and bruised eye witnesses of the beating he just received from her. His own mother!
She was mad because he put the wrong ingredients in the bread. Well, what do you expect from an eight year old boy?
He tries to hold the tears at bay when he remembers, but they sting his bruised eye, making an appearance on his face anyway. So instead of fighting the tears, he embraces them.
He cries.
Cries because of the situation he's involuntarily put in. Cries because his father looked away while he was being beaten with a wooden roll. Cries because his brothers, who were once in his shoes, were standing, watching. Cries because the girl he's in love with will never notice him.
But most of all, he cries for his mother, and what made her this way. Violent, bitter, full of hate for everyone.
He loves her though, she's his mother after all. And also, because he can't find it him to hate her. He's sure that in a different and in a different place, she's not this mean. Something or someone made her the way she is today. She is just continuing the circle that may have or may not have been inflicted on her. But he'll stop it. Somehow.
He thinks it, but doesn't believe it.
That was the night Peeta Mellark lost all hope.
Sorry again for the shortness, but yeah… I have no excuse.
But do you like it? If you do, then review. If you don't, also review.
Thanks for reading.