Chapter 1
Captivity
Peeta Point of View
A foul odor reeks from the guards. They guard only me from what I know, but what I know is not much. Not that they are necessary; video cameras, heat sensors, and chains prevent escape. I look at the cameras and can only imagine how the Capitol uses the video footage of me to manipulate the people. But only my cell exists right now and I know every inch of it. I would not be able to describe the building I am held in, just these four walls and what is inside them. Thick steel composes three of the four walls. My arms shiver against the ice cold steel. Cement creates the ceiling and floor. The lack of windows leaves me clueless to the time of day. I assume the time to be early morning because these are the same guards from last night and I have not been given the table scraps my captors call a meal. Not even a dog would eat that garbage. My frail body once fit and strong is chained to the wall opposite the door. Even if I could escape from these chains, I would not have been able to get through the three inch thick, steel trap door. The blank space beyond the threshold reveals a hallway made of more steel that I only see when someone enters or leaves the cell.
Unlike normal jail cells, this prison room has no bed, no sink, no toilet, no chairs. Any of that furniture would take space away from the area that could be used for the torture devices. Every day, between lunch and dinner, a man dressed in camouflage digs and decked out in a buzz cut struts into the cell carrying different instruments of torture. I have never seen him before in the Capitol or anywhere else, and I would never forget a face like that. He has a lightning bolt shaped scar on his left cheek giving him a haunting grin that sends shivers up my spine alone. The Capitol hides even their more brutish people underground where the heartwarming citizens of the Capitol cannot see them.
Even though the years as of late feel like we have not evolved, I remember learning about revolutions from friends who had relatives during those ages of freedom, and yet these devices were pulled right out of the dark ages. A stretcher, whip, needles, hot iron tools for branding, each left welts and scars. The blood drips down my face and back to then cool from the air conditioning. The only new invention blockhead uses is an electroshock machine that sends waves of sharpening pain through the core of my body. I wonder what he will use today. That is all I have to look forward to, torture, in the confinement of this bleak desolate room. I am a prisoner.
Fourteen hours later, I have more bruises blooming and more blood oozing from fresh wounds. Army guy with a stick up his butt asked about the rebellion group, again. You would think he would grow tiered of asking the same questions over and over again. But once he was gone, I was left in quiet all over again. At least the room is dark enough for me to close my eyes and dream of Katniss, no matter how little she dreams of me. The memory of her hidden grin as she uncovered me, covered in wounds, from the mud during the first Hunger Games, gets me through the day. The memory of her determination to insure that I regained my health pulls me through each week. But the pain causes me to lose track of how long I have been in captivity. They shock me, starve my stomach, whip my back, stretch my limbs. I try not to scream out in agony because the citizens of Panem do not need to cower in fear of the pain I suffer. They ask where the fugitives are hidden. They want to know where Katniss went. They torture me to tell them about Haymitch and his connections. But the truth is… I know nothing. If I had been told information I would not have breathed a word, just to keep Katniss safe. Haymitch said that the Capitol would do less damage to everyone the less I knew. I could not possibly imagine anything worse than this. Except Katniss being hurt.
Even though Katniss is not pregnant with my baby, I wish she was. Not that I want her to have to raise a child on her own if anything happens to me, just that she would be able to carry a part of me with her. I have nothing to leave on this planet if I do die. I inspired no one and have nothing to show for what I have done in this life time. Katniss was the one out of the two of us who inspired Districts to rebel and to give the people hope that life could exist without the Capitol. At least I have my memories of her. The capitol cannot take those away or taint them with this pain. Although I think they try to with the torment.
I wonder how I will escape. I doubt I could do it on my own. Drugs tainted my ability to stay awake when they brought me in. Guards are not only stationed on the inside, but also the outside of my cell and I am sure they are patrolling the hallways. Escape is nearly impossible on my own. I hope someone has a plan in all of this. Because I sure as hell don't.