Chapter 1
I awoke to the sunlight streaming through the window above my bed. Despite the warmth that the sun should provide to human skin, I felt shivers creep over me, raising the fine blonde hairs on my arms. Today was the day of The Reaping, the annual lottery that picked the two tributes that would compete in The Hunger Games, which was a possible death sentence for those unlucky two. Today, all of us teenagers throughout Panem would be prepped and primed for the one of the most sickening days of our lives, and two families will spend time trying to figure out how to survive the pain and torture of loss of a loved one.
My name is Peeta Mellark. I am sixteen years old. I live in District 12, in the center of the town. My family owns the local bakery. I don't have the best upbringing, despite my difference in living compared to those in the Seam. I'm medium height, stocky and muscular (from my years in the bakery with my parents and two older brothers), blonde hair, blue eyes, and kind of keep to myself.
There's a short, sharp rap at my bedroom door. "Peeta, hurry up!" my mother's voice is muffled behind the wooden door. "We need you in the bakery and then you have to get ready for this afternoon."
"Great," I muttered to myself. The last thing I wanted to think about was this afternoon.
"What was that?" came my mother's voice, sharp again.
"Nothing!" I called out. "I'll be right there!"
I quickly got dressed into stained trousers and a simple white T-shirt, and pulled on my worn sneakers, and made my way to the bakery.
"Get started," snapped my mother. I exchanged a look with my father, who shrugs slightly. I suppress a sigh and begin working.
For hours, I worked away with my family, muscles and back aching by the end of it. Suddenly, a deformed loaf of bread was shoved in front of my eyes.
"Throw this out the back," my mother snaps. I take the loaf of bread, rolling my eyes when she turned her back. The bread was fine, no need to throw it away. It was one of the many things that I disliked about my mother: discarding of tings so necessarily.
When I arrived back inside, my mother ordered me to get ready for the Reaping, as it would begin in an hour. In my room, I pulled on a white business shirt, my best pair of trousers and put on my best black shoes.
As a requirement of the Capitol, each of the teenagers throughout Panem had to look respectable for the Reaping, as it was a live televised event. Very perverse, if you ask me.
Finally, at one o'clock, we all head to the square, where the Reaping will take place. When we reach the point where I have to leave my family, I turn to them. My mother has barely any emotions registered on her face, but my father had a sad look on his face. He rested a hand on my shoulder and said, "Good luck, son." Translation: good luck on making sure you don't get picked.
I nodded my thanks, sign myself in and make my way over to the section for the other guys my age. I stand ready, my heart beating steadily. I try to keep my heart at a steady rhythm; this is the day everybody dreads.
Whilst waiting for the Reaping to begin, I looked to my left. All the girls my age are directly opposite us boys. Amongst the girls, I spot her. Long brown hair braided up on her head, grey eyes searching the crowd, a splash of freckles across her nose, a beautiful blue dress on for the occasion. The girl I've been in love with for ten years. The girl who barely knows I exist. Katniss.
She glancing around, eyes finding the bright banners decorating the square and the camera crews perched on top of the Justice Building. I can tell despite her cool exterior, she too is trying her best to keep calm.
On the temporary stage in front of the Justice Building, the mayor of District 12, Mayor Undersee is talking to Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, a woman dressed decadently in a green suit and scary pink hair.
It's two o'clock. The mayor makes his way to the podium and begins his speech, starting with the history of Panem, the country that was once North America. He retells of the natural disasters and wars that have plagued the countryside. And the result was Panem and the Capitol, a government ringed by thirteen districts, which all provide support and sustainment for the survival of its people. Then, Undersee told of the Dark Days, a war of the districts versus the capitol, in which twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth annihilated. To make sure that the uprising never happened again, the Capitol gave us The Hunger Games.
The Hunger Games requires each district to give up one boy and one girl between the ages of 11 and 18 to become a tribute and compete in a live fight to the death on national television. The last tribute standing wins.
One can only imagine the horrors that unfold in the arena each year.
This year is the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. And now, it is time for the drawing.
Effie Trinket steps up to the barrel and exclaims, "Ladies first!" she reaches in, pulls out a piece of paper and reads in a cloud, clear voice:
"Primrose Everdeen!"
I suck in a breath, my heart stopping for a millisecond. I watch as Katniss's little sister, Prim, begin to move towards the stage. I watch Katniss. She is horrified, upset, looking like her heart has been ripped out of her chest. I shouldn't be surprised though. If one of my brother's had been chosen to be a tribute, I would be equally as devastated as Katniss was in this very moment.
As I look at the faces surrounding Katniss and Prim, there is a mixture of tension folded with looks of relief. Despite others concern for the chosen tribute, people are glad that they didn't get picked. Another year gone, another year safe.
Prim looks so scared. She makes her way to the stage, whiter than a ghost, her hands in fists at her side. She has just about reached the stairs, when Katniss pushes her way out of the crowd towards Prim. Shoving Prim behind her, she says loud and clear, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
After a second of stunned silence, Effie recovers quickly. "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth, then we, um…" she trails off, looking a little unsure of herself for someone who is supposed to have all the answers on a day like today.
"What does it matter?" Mayor Undersee replies, looking at Katniss with concern. "Let her come forward."
My heart leapt into my throat as I watched Prim clutching at her sister, screaming, "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" I felt like screaming the same thing.
Her response seemed harsh. "Let go, Prim. Let go." It got to the point where Prim became so hysterical that Gale Hawthorne had to come and pull her away from the stage so that Katniss could descend and face us, misery etched upon her beautiful features.
Effie Trinket is clapping her hands enthusiastically. "Well bravo! That's the spirit of the Games!" She turns to Katniss. "And what's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," came the voice over the mike.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" I scowl at that remark; Effie really has no idea, does she? "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
Not one person claps, thank Heavens.
As I watch Katniss, my heart aches. I may never see her again. This is the last time I may ever lay eyes on her. I try to soak up every memory of her whilst she is on stage, trying desperately to hold it together.
Suddenly, Haymitch Abernathy, 12's previous Games winner and Katniss's future mentor stumbles up onto the stage, clearly drunk and clearly late. "Look at her! Look at this one!" he yells, throwing an arm over her shoulder. "I like her. Lot's of…spunk. More than you!" he let's go of her and runs for the nearest camera, screaming into the lense.
After a few moments of calming Haymitch, Effie steps back up to the mike.
"What an exciting day! But now, it is time to choose our boy tribute!"
This is when I pray my heart keeps a steady rhythm as Effie reaches into the barrel and retrieves a second piece of paper. She reads it to herself and then announces:
"Peeta Mellark."