Well, this is my first ever attempt at writing a fanfiction! It's supposed to be The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV. I started this in about March last year, but I never did anything with it, I didn't even get past the first chapter. I don't know how the story will progress, but I may include 'should have been' scenes that weren't actually in the books. Anyway, please review, and let me know what you think - all feedback will be appreciated and taken into account!
When I wake up, the smell of freshly baked bread greets me, it seems to be constantly present in my house. My eyes start to open slowly, adjusting to the light. Whilst I systematically heave my body to a sitting position, I think about the dream I have just left behind. The dream I leave behind every morning. The dream of Katniss Everdeen.
I go over to the open window, and draw back the thin pale curtains, expecting to see the usual hustle and bustle of the merchant section of District 12 but I was surprised to see a distinct lack of any movement. Of course there wasn't any movement. Today is reaping day.
My movements are more solemn from now, all my limbs seem to become stiff and unwilling. Although my name will only be in five times today, I can't help but speculate the possibilities. When I'm not dreaming of the girl in the rain, I am having nightmares about Effie Trinket reading my name in that stupid Capitol accent.
I make my way through my small but sturdy home, brushing the cream painted walls lightly with my fingers as I pass. Sometimes I wish I could just paint something on these plain walls, bring a bit of life to the monotony of the cream and brown colour scheme. Mother would never allow it though and it would probably earn me a slap across the face. Besides, the only thing I could think of drawing would be her. Sitting behind the shop, quivering and helpless, soaked through to the bone. Singing in her red dress that first day at school. Picking the first dandelion of spring. She's all I ever really think about, it's quite sad really considering she never looks at me for more than half a second.
'Hey, son.' My dad calls out to me from the threadbare couch. 'You're up early, it's reaping day you know. No-one will be coming to buy anything after twelve, so that means no work.'
'I'm sure Mom will be thrilled about that.' I don't make an attempt to hide the sarcasm in my tone.
'Peeta, don't talk about your mother that way.' His voice was serious but his smile was apparent. I returned it half-heartedly, my mind still on the five slips of paper that could mean my certain death.
'What's the matter, son?' He already knew though, it's been the same way ever since my first reaping.
The first one was the worst, I couldn't stop shaking and sweating. Even when they called some other boy's name out, I was too transfixed in my own emotional trauma to even remember his name. All I remember was the look of utter despair on his face that was clear to see on the huge screens that stood either side of the Justice Building. Soon his eyes locked on a girl a few rows back who was sobbing uncontrollably and suddenly his expression became fierce and determined. I didn't understand back then, but now I know he was preparing himself for the biggest struggle of his life just so he could come back to the girl he loved.
He didn't come back though. I remember watching painfully as he had his eyes pecked out by a strange bird that was obliviously a mutation of the Gamemaker's creation. After that he tried to carry on, probably for his girl back home, but without sight to guide him to food or water, he perished within a day or two.
I see the hysterical girl from time to time whilst I'm in the Seam. Her dark eyes are always so unaware of her surroundings, like all the purpose in her life had vanished a long time ago.
I slump down heavily on the chair adjacent to where my farther still lies. 'It's the same as every year, dad.'
He nods his head morosely to show that he understands, then swings his legs around to then steady himself on his thin legs. He gives me a hopeful smile and ruffles my hair playfully as he walks to the kitchen. 'Not to worry you boy, but you can't go to the Capitol looking like that now, can you?'
He was right, of course, everyone had to be in their best-dressed for reaping day. It reminded me of a funeral.
I resigned myself back to my bedroom, where I picked out a plain pair of light brown dress pants and a blue shirt and begrudgingly slipped them on after scrubbing the dough from underneath my finger nails and eradicating all dirt from my body. After this, I went to the small rectangular ornate mirror that had been a wedding present for my parent's from some relative or another and slicked my messy blonde hair out of my eyes and into a small quiff on the top of my head. I hated it that way, but my mom said it looked better than having my hair dangling in front of my face like an overgrown hedge. Always the charmer, my mother.
Just before I had to leave the house, I slipped on a pair of dark leather shoes and tied them securely in a double knot. Although I doubt it will protect me from my name my drawn, at least I can guarantee I won't fall on my face on my way up there.
'Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!' I sardonically whispered to myself as I stepped out of the door.