I try not to give in to the shotting pains on my cracked, burnt hands. I knead the dough, stretch and fold, stretch and fold, over and over, again and again. I take long deep breathes, knowing not to complain. Complaining just leads to more pain. But oh how I wished to just replace the flour on my hands with the water streaming from the tap beside me.

Just deal with it, I tell myself, it's getting dark, soon the Bakery will be closed and I will be able to aid my scorched hands. Dazed, I look down to see blood dripping from my knuckles and quickly jerk away from the powdered countertop. "Now look what you did! Peeta, we are all working our asses off in here and we can't aford for you to be bleeding all over the bread! You stupid bruit!" Mother turned red with rage, then slapped me across the face, "Now clean off your hands and get to work!"

Father shifted away from the sink, his head hung low. He didn't believe in beatings like Mother did, but it wasn't the time to start an arguement, we were busy baking. The cold water stung my hands at first, then became soothing. I lift my head to glance at my Father. He was staring out the window, in a curious manner. I looked that way, fumbling to twist the tap off.

I slide back to my position in the kitchen, still staring out the window I pour more flour on the countertop then pat my hands in it. I go on kneading, stretch and fold, stretch and fold, unable to detach my focus from the scene that lay outside the window.

"What are you looking at?" I jumped when I heard the voice, Mother had been standing beside me. Her usual thin hazel eyes were as big as a cat's, full of curiosity. She slowly turned to look out the window, to see what was happening herself. Then she said under her breath, "Not again."

She opened her mouth wide, as big as a bear's and started to scream at the poor deer like prey. "Get lost you stingy theaf, or I'll call the Peace Keepers to come take you! I'm sick and tired of you little brats from the Seam pawing through my trash like a bunch of racoons! Now go on your way you little twit, I said get lost!"

I gazed in awe as she backed away from the trash can. The look on her face was so oppressive, I concidered running out there to craddle her in my arms and tell her, it's alright or, don't worry. But that wouldn't help her. I felt useless, like I was of no help to the poor dieing deer that lay within reach. If only I could save her.

Mother turned her veiw from the window to take a couple loaves of bread from the oven. A million thoughts run through my head but I don't have time to listen to any of them. I turn around and without concern I slap the loaves from my Mother's hand into the fire. Then lift my head and stare her in the face.

At first she said nothing, but then her face turned that bright red again. I clench my jaw and fists, having no clue of what I just did or how bad the beating would be. "What the hell was that!" She swung her hand in hopes to hit me nice and hard, but I ducked, without thinking. "What the hell were you thinking you insolent little bastard!" She reached into the oven to grab the crusty loaves of bread. Once she was up straight she grasped the long shaggy hair on the back of my head, and slashed a loaf across my face. Again and again over and over, mother pulled back to hit until, "Enough!"

We both stood there frozen, solid as statues, only our eyes followed with Father's every movement as he came towards us and released Mother's grip from my hair. Mother ceased the tension, she looked my way and pushed the two loaves into my chest. She bit her cheeks in with rage. "Go feed the pigs." her voice creeked. I couldn't help but smile, knowing she couldn't do anything further to stop me from helping her.

I run outside, my old beaten boots sloshing in the mud with every step I take. Mother still yells at me from the kitchen, "No one decent will buy burnt bread!" She exclaims. She's decent, more than decent, she was much more than that. I ripped the black crust off and threw it in the pig pen. I take steathly glances at her every couple of tosses, not wanting to frighten the delicate girl. She had fell back on the ground leaning against the apple tree in out yard, fighting to hang on to her life. I had torn most of the crust off of the bread, it just looked a little rough around the edges, but the crumb was unharmed.

She fought hard to keep her eyes open, she knew if she fell asleep she may never wake up. I came closer and she squinted her sharp grey eyes, giving me a puzzled look. I get a chill up my spine, then turn to the window to see if anyone was watcing. The coast was clear, I move towards her, trying to make little noise. Her eye lids slowly fell as if they were too heavy a load to heave. I come up close to her. She looked so fragile, I didn't want to leave her side. Her lips were slightly pursed, and her cheek bones sunk in so much, if she got any thinner, it would look as if she was a skeleton. But even in her lowest of times, she still seemed the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I gingerly stroked the left side of her soft face with the back of my fingers. I wanted to know more about her but I had already taken too long. I placed the hot loaves in her lap and ran back to the house.

I threw the door open and kicked off my boots, making it to the window just in time to see her get up and swiftly walk away from the apple tree, tightly clutching my gift to her. I had done it. I had saved my dieing dear. It's just too bad, that was all the courage I will ever have to do.