The smell of coal dust lingered in the frigid morning air. The smell was almost unbearable, but I was used to it. The smell would always travel from the Seam, up to here. The Seam is the place where the poor people live. I stretch my hand out, and then lay, staring up at the cracked ceiling above me. I am relaxed until I start to think about the stability of the roof above me. It could collapse any minute, I think to myself, although it's highly unlikely.
"Peeta, come downstairs!" My mother's tone isn't any different to what it is other days, but it still makes me shiver.
"Coming... mother." I groan, barely squeezing the word 'mother' out. It's hard to call her that, because of the way she treats me. I don't think that mothers treat their children the way mine does.
I close my eyes for a brief moment and then I force them open again. I stumble downstairs rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"Good morning," I yawn.
I catch a glimpse of my older brothers, Rye and Wheat. Their solemn faces, stare blankly at their bread as they rip chunks off it and shove them into their mouths, almost as if they are blissfully unaware of anything around them. I know why they're so miserable. Today is the Reaping. Everyone, even those who are safe from being chosen as a tribute, are miserable today. This is my last year of freedom. The last year, I don't live in fear of my name being picked out of thousands from a circular, glass bowl.
I grab a slice of bread, and do as they are, slowly eating it, even though I don't have much of an appetite. What else am I supposed to do? Sit and watch them as they prepare for the most uncertain moment of their life. The moment that could decide their life or their death.
"Peeta! Who said that you could eat yet?" My mother's harsh voice rings out across the room, even startling my brothers, "Go! Make yourself useful! Bake bread! You father isn't here anymore to do it!"
Her piercing blue eyes meet mine and I instantly get up. I half walk, half run to the kitchen. I clean my hands and spread flour out across the bench. I knead the dough. My hands working diligently while my eyes sting with tears. She brought up dad. My mind flashes to images of him walking near the mines then the explosion that changed my life forever. Oh, how I wish that he didn't go to the Seam that morning. I still don't know why he did. Sometimes when I really miss my dad, I put on his apron, and somehow, I feel as though he is hugging me tightly, comforting me, reassuring me that all is alright. So, that's exactly what I do. I fasten the apron around my waist and neck and I can slightly smell the soft, unmistakable scent of my father. I let a tear roll down my cheek as I hear the bakery bell chime. I don't look up. I don't want whoever just walked in to see the state I'm in. I hear footsteps nearing the counter and then there's silence. It would've been awkward if I was looking at this person. Luckily I don't look up.
Suddenly I hear them cough and I can't help but look up to see a small, fragile girl with black hair that is in a braid and grey eyes. I blink, suddenly knowing that the girl that stands before me is Katniss Everdeen. The girl I have loved ever since I laid eyes on her when we were five.
*Flashback*
"Bye, daddy!"
"Bye, Peeta."
I stay, staring at my father for awhile when he says, "Quick! You don't want to be late for your fist class!"
I nod and smile, before turning around and skipping to my first class for the day; music.
"Good Morning children! How are you all?" Ms Cleft, my music teacher asks in a perky voice.
"Good!" We chorus.
"Very well! I've got a question for you!" She informs us in a mysterious tone, engaging me and my classmates.
"I was wondering if any of you knew the Valley Song!"
She looks at us hopefully. I look around waiting to see if anyone would be brave enough to sing in front of people they had never met before. When it looked like nobody was going to raise their hand, a small hand shot up. It almost got lost in the crowd.
Ms Cleft looks absolutely delighted, "How about you come up and sing it for us?" She exclaims.
The little girl stood up confidently and made her way to the front of the room where my music teacher waited eagerly.
The little girl had her hair in two braids and she had the same piercing grey eyes I'm staring at right now. "What's your name, darling?"
"Katniss! Katniss Everdeen!"
*Reality*
I snap out of my stupor when she wipes a tear from my cheek and whispers, "why are you crying?"
"It's n-nothing!"
"It must be something! You wouldn't be crying for no reason!" She pushes.
I peer up again to see her eyes trained on me, awaiting answers.
"Fine. I'm just grieving over my - uh - father."
Her expression turns solemn and suddenly I feel bad for no apparent reason.
She turns away and I suddenly feel an emptiness inside of me when I think that she's leaving. But, instead of heading out the door, she lifts the countertop flap and walks towards me. Then something unexpected happens. She embraces me and whispers, "Don't worry. I lost my father in a mining accident."
I nod telling her that my father died in a mining accident as well. That's when she pulls away and stares at me, confused. I know what she's thinking, your father worked here how could he possibly be in the mines.
"He was walking near them one day and - and" I stutter, answering her unspoken question.
Her mouth forms an 'O' shape and she looks away as if she's embarrassed. Then I hug her and surprisingly she doesn't pull away. She hugs me back. We stay like that for what seems like forever when my mother yells, "Peeta! Get back here, now!"
I roll my eyes and break away, unhappy of the disruption.
"Will I - uh - ever see you again?" Katniss asks timidly, her eyes trained on her dusty boots.
"Yes. I'd like that." I answer, smiling at her.
The corners of her mouth curl up into a grin and we stare at each other. My mother yells again, startling Katniss. "Well I better go..." Katniss starts to walk away but she turns on her heel and kisses me on the cheek before running off.
Just as she opens the door she smiles at me before disappearing into the busy streets.