Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, or Mockingjay nor direct quotes. I also don't own any of the characters or the settings… sadly.
Eep! I'm so excited! This is my very first Hunger Games fic! And really, I've tried writing these before, but I've never been able to… get into it I guess. But with all the hype of The Hunger Games premiering in March, I figured that I should start dabbling a bit in the fandom, and I came up with this. So… I hope you like it!
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First day of school. I change into a new, red plaid dress that Father had bought me specifically for today, and I let Mother do my hair in my usual two braids on each side except she adds red ribbons in my hair. She wipes the dirt off my worn-down black shoes and slips them on my feet, then she wets a washcloth and gently scrubs any signs of dirt off my face. She swings my school bag around my shoulder, light with a single pencil and a folder. By the time she's finished, I end up posing in my new dress in front of the cracked mirror leaning against the wall.
I hear Father give a low whistle. "How do you like your new dress?"
"Daddy, I love it!" I say as I run into his arms. Feeling his embrace around me once again is indescribable. "Thank you so much!"
"You're welcome, sweetheart."
"Why aren't you at work?" I question him as he puts me down.
He smiles and takes my hand as he says, "Well, it's your first day of school. I want to take you there before I go. If I'm lucky, I can get a few minutes off, right?"
It wasn't very likely to get any time off, but I don't mind it. Feeling my hand in his was enough for me to keep my mouth shut. We start walking out the door, but then I remember something. As I hastily let go of his grip I feel my neck in search of my rope necklace. When it's not there, I say, "Father, I've forgotten my lucky rope necklace!"
He chuckles at this, but for some reason, it's not as happy as I expect it to be. "You'll be fine, Katniss. Maybe you can wear it tomorrow."
As we walk out the door and down the streets, I trot in my new outfit, ready for the school day.
The scene changes. We're now in the school yard, and Father has had to leave to the coal mines. We're getting lined up, and I see everyone else with their moms, some with dads who don't live in the Seam. I keep out of the way, because I know better. I look at some of the kids, all in dresses and dress shirts, somewhat common for the very first day of school. It's all so common. I feel small in the field of dark haired, grey-eyed, olive-toned children.
I don't think I recognize anyone, but then I see the baker. I only know who he is from adoring the displayed cakes that my family can never afford. And sometimes, when his wife isn't looking, he'll offer a slice of bread to me or a piece of a cake of which the frosting work didn't turn out right, especially during this thing called the Reaping. A generous man, I guess, but he's rather quiet. He keeps to himself.
He points to me. I'm not sure why exactly, but he does point to me and appears to be talking to his son, who is also much like him. His son is in a white dress shirt, nicer than most of our clothing, which is expected because they own a bakery and can afford nicer things. They definitely stand out from the crowd, with unique blonde hair and blue eyes that I usually only see with my mother. Suddenly, he starts walking towards me, the baker watching from a distance.
He smiles at me. "My name is Peeta. Peeta Mellark," he says. "What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," I say, and I smile back shyly. "Nice to meet you." I put my hand out for him to shake. I've never done before, but this would be a good start, I figure.
However, he seems confused. Then, he puts his hand out, directly in front of mine, but not touching. "Nice to meet you too."
I laugh. "Silly. You're supposed to shake it, like this," I say as I take his hand a start shaking it slowly.
"Okay." He starts shaking too. "But why?" he laughs with me.
His question really makes me think. "…I don't really know," I say. "I see Father do it when he meets new people. And then, he usually asks about their life, or the weather. Tells them something nice, I guess." Then I add, "I like your shirt."
We're still shaking hands as he looks down at his shirt. "Oh, thanks. My mom made it. Sewed the buttons and everything." He looks directly at me, as if analyzing my features. "I like your eyes."
I laugh at this too. "Why? They're grey like almost everyone else's," I say.
"They're different," he insists. "They… sparkle, I guess. And I like them."
"Well, thank you."
I close my eyes, and when I open them again, any sign of communication I've had with this boy I've met has vanished. When I open my eyes, nothing is the same.
Suddenly, the word Reaping doesn't mean free bread and cake.
The boy whose hand I haven't let go of is now bigger, his grasp is firmer. He appears older, his golden hair fallen down his forehead, his blue eyes alert and frightened like prey I had seen in the woods, rather than the innocent twinkle I saw when we were five.
I'm different too. My hair is in one braid instead of two. Instead of a red, plaid dress, I'm wearing my Mother's soft, blue one with matching shoes and all. Mother is very protective of her old clothes, or anything of her past, so I realize that wearing such a thing is definitely not an everyday affair. I want to ask why Father didn't just buy me one, but now I know that it isn't a valid question.
We're not laughing anymore. Actually, we're both rather solemn as we hear the crowd cheer and clap. I hear Effie Trinket's voice giggle and shriek with her ridiculous Capitol accent in the microphone.
As we shake hands, I look into his deep blue eyes again, and I don't see the boy I met on the first day of school. I don't remember the boy I met on the first day of school. I see the boy with the bread. The one who saved my life that horrible day when I thought my family was going to die. And to think of all people who could get chosen in the Reaping, it had to be the one I owed. The boy that I owe my life to, I would now have to kill.
I'm sorry, I wish I could say, but I know I shouldn't say anything. If I allow myself, I might do or say something stupid, and I can't afford that. Luckily he nods at me, I feel like he gets my message.
As I try to let go, Peeta's hand still holding on. "No, don't let go of me. Please, I might fall out of this thing."
The scene has changed once again. This time, we're not shaking hands, we're holding hands. It's not Reaping clothes we are wearing, but flames that the one and only Cinna has designed. We're in a chariot, and from both sides, Capitol people are cheering for us. Possibly louder than District One. As much as I miss home, as much as the present is unbearable to think about, the feeling's incredible. As I hold onto Peeta and I blow kisses into the crowd, I realize that I'm not pretty, nor beautiful. I'm as radiant as the sun. No one will forget me. Not my name, not my look. Katniss. The girl who was on fire.
Then in the blink of an eye, it's all gone. The people, the flames, the makeup… it's vanished. We're in a cave, but not just any cave. I know this cave too well. We're in the arena.
I'm cuddled next to Peeta, one of his arms around me, draped like a blanket as I hold onto his hand. I lay my head down on his other arm, like a pillow. And never had I felt so secure during the Games. To think that I could feel so serene, in a setting where I know I can lose my life in a split second. But in order to keep our lives, a good show helps.
And if the Capitol wants a good show, then that's what I'll give them.
"You said that you had a crush on me since forever," I say. "When did forever exactly start?"
"Hmm… let me think," Peeta starts. "Well. We were five. It was the first day of school, and my dad pointed you out while we were lining up. I remember him saying, 'See that girl over there? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"
"You're joking!" I say. "You must be!"
He chuckles, "No, I'm not. And I remember asking him why, and he said, 'Because when he sings, all the birds stop to listen.'"
I can't seem to find words to say to this, because of how true it is. And when I don't respond, he continues. "So when the teacher asked if anyone knew this certain song, and your hand shot up, I knew what to expect. And when you started to sing, I swear every bird outside fell silent. And right when your song ended, I knew – just like your mother – I was a goner."
"You have a remarkable memory," I say.
He chuckles again, "It's not that. I remember everything about you. You just weren't paying attention."
And this seems like the perfect time for a kiss, so I lean in, squeezing his hand tighter and eventually, I meet his lips. Having not being in love before, it's definitely a trick to act like it, and I try to remember what my mom and dad looked like when they kissed. So passionately and lasting.
But when I kiss Peeta, I don't know whether it's true love or not, but I know that it's strong. As I close my eyes, I focus on how much I really care for him. How if he dies, I'll be hurt the most. How much I don't want to lose the boy with the bread.
My mind is consumed with Peeta's voice.
"She has no idea. The effect she can have."
"Here to finish me off, sweetheart?"
"I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. It improves your look a lot."
"No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression."
More words, more memories, more things that he's said that I may never forget. But then, his hand is suddenly ripped from mine. I feel empty, like the darkness has taken over. That this is my final reality. Effie's shrilly voice is now heard loud and clear, above everything else. "May the odds be ever in your favor!"
And that's when my eyes fling open for real. I'm disappointed in myself. The first time that I could sleep, I dream something so uncreative: just mere, somewhat distorted flashbacks one after another. My first thing I decide to do is check up on Peeta. After the Capitol brainwashed him and morphed my image and all, things really haven't been the same.
"Can I see him?" I ask, without hope. I ask every day, and usually the answer is no, but this time, the doctors let me in. Unwillingly, but they do. Our third reunion, I guess you can say. Because the first time, he nearly strangled me, and the second time he could finally see who I really was.
This time, Peeta's lying down on what appears to be a cot. It doesn't look too comfortable, with all those restraints on him, confining him to it, but it makes us both safe. His eyelids have just fluttered open: he must've been sleeping.
After our last talk, I shouldn't be too thrilled to see him. The questions he brought up about us and Gale and all… I realize I shouldn't be too skeptical about it, but it doesn't fail to bother me. Even so, this time, I'm determined to behave appropriately.
I walk over to him, and our eyes lock immediately. He stares at me curiously, analyzing my every move, as if determining whether I'm safe or not, human or mutt, friend or foe, just like the last time. I can only imagine what he's been through. His memories being tampered with, he can't tell what's real and what's not. Being tortured physically, mentally, and emotionally, I cannot even begin to describe what must've happened. Even more now, as these people he doesn't know are trying to convince him that I am who I really am, he must be so confused.
But it's what he says next that makes me realize just how much I don't want to lose the boy with the bread.
"I have no idea who you are anymore, but I like your eyes."
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Well, that's it! I hope you guys don't mind that I added in some scenes and switched the cave scene a little, but I figured that for this story, it'd fit a little better that way. I also figured that it was just a dream, and with my dreams, they're not always too realistic.
Anyways, thanks for reading! Remember to tell me what you think by reviewing below! Thanks!