I did not want to hurt anyone.
I did not intend to be a murderer.
It started as a normal day not unlike any other. I still remember the warmth of the oven that I baked bread in. I was excited because there was a wrestling match at school today, and it's one of the few things I am not a pathetic disappointment at. My opponent was Jack Green, an acquaintance who was in the same class as me. It was supposed to be a clean match. We even shook hands beforehand as a gesture of mutual good will.
I did not intend to break his neck.
I have been locked in this cell for eight hours, and I still have not stopped crying. My eyes are sore, and the sleeves of my orange prisoner shirt are soaked through. The cell I am in is damp and cold, but I do not notice either of these things beyond shivering as I cry. I wish they would just put a bullet in the back of my head and get it over with!
It's not like I have anything to live for: my own mother has been telling me for years that she does not love me and that nobody will miss me if I die. I could not even muster up the courage to tell Katniss that I have always been in love with her. Probably for the best: there is no way anyone would ever want to marry me. No woman wants to marry a pathetic weakling, and certainly not one with blood on his hands.
Not that it matters; in a few hours one of the peacekeepers is going to execute me and everything will be over.
I can already hear his footsteps as he walks down the hallway. Soon he will lead me to the stage where I will get my brains blown out in front of a cheering crowd.
This is how it ends.
A Peacekeeper leads me to a room where. I guess this is where they will put a bullet in my skull.
"Undress." I do not know what to expect when the Peacekeeper says this, and I am paralyzed with fear.
"I said Undress." Without telling them to do so, my,arms begin to take off my orange prisoner clothes.
A doctor walks in. He prods and examines me for some unknown purpose, asking me questions about my health. I am able to whimper out answers, but I do now know the purpose of all this. My answers come out in stutters because of both fear and cold.
"How old are you?"
"Si-si-si-sixteen."
"Are you married or betrothed?"
"N-n-n-no."
"Okey. Do you consume alcohol or other hazardous substances?"
"N-n-n-n-n-no."
"Okey. How many people have you had sex with?"
"N-none."
"Do you have any disabilities like asthma?
"N-n-no."
I am a little bothered by the peacekeepers seeing me this way and by the personal nature of the questions the doctor is asking, but not nearly as bothered as I am by the coldness of the room. Now my shivering is out of control. Next one of them uses a syringe to take blood out of my arm, and I am told to wait in this room.
"Put your clothes on and wait in here." They say this as they leave and lock the door behind me.
I put my clothes back on, and I wait for the end.
Authors Note: As you can see, Peeta Mellark is and always has been a paragon of self esteem.