"Red"
1.
Peeta Mellark's favorite color was orange. Ever since he could remember, seeing the brightness and warmth of the color would penetrate his eyes and travel into his pupils, through his retinas, touching various nerves and sparking emotions such as happiness and positive energy throughout his system, across his body, through his heart and brain and into the fabric of his very soul. He didn't really know why, but the color orange made him smile.
His mother would often chide him for using up all the orange dye for the icings he would mix for the cakes. He simply ignored her and continued icing the cakes with as many swirls of orange sugar as he could. Any shade of orange, really, and he liked it. He'd made pastel orange icing for springtime cakes; a sunny bright orange for the summer cakes; a deep, reddish auburn hue for the autumn cakes, and finally the dark burnt spice color that was used in winter. Quite honestly with himself, however, he preferred the autumn cakes.
There was one incident, one that stood out in his mind as clear as crystal now, but his recalling this particular event puzzled him. This incident occurred while he was icing a cake that previous autumn. It was a very nice cake, one that he hoped someone would buy whole this time instead of asking for simply a slice to take home. It was a pumpkin spice cake, frosted with creamy white icing first but with added details of those auburn swirls he so loved. He was fashioning these into a design that resembled fall leaves curling around the cake. As he was putting the final leaf on, however, his grip on the icing bag suddenly increased and he squirted too much out onto the cake.
Cursing at his mistake, he grabbed behind him for a knife on the other table so that he could gently scrape it off and ice over the mishap, but in the process he managed to nick his finger on the blade's tip. Letting out a yelp, he brought his finger back around to his face, but the blood that had welled up escaped his fingertip and dropped down, almost as if by fate, across the cake. The ruby red splashed across the leaves on the cake startled Peeta more than he felt it should, but before he could look much further into it his mother had come to discover his mess and all hell broke loose. Peeta was reprimanded and kicked in the calf as his mother urged him out of the kitchen, murderously eyeing the spoiled cake and her own son in the same manner.
He should have realized then that he was to see much more of his own blood splattered across leaves in the near future. The blood on the leaves was the first step into the violent plans that the Capitol had for him, and it was perhaps to be the last as well.
x.X.x.X.x.X.x
The train to the Capitol was making good time, according to Effie. Their dinner was subdued, firstly to the absence of Haymitch and secondly due to the waves of negativity and tension emanating off of Katniss as she sat and ate, stiffly and somewhat sullenly. Peeta ignored her for the most part, as he knew that she had a lot on her mind and nothing he could do would fix that. Hell, all the reaped tributes must have a lot on their minds that night. He just continued to silently eat his food, marveling at the supreme quality and richness of it. He filled his stomach as much as he could, but was careful not to overdo it. He knew that in the Games, food like this would not be attainable.
After dinner, they watched the recaps of all the reapings from the various Districts, and his attention was held mildly as he sized up their opponents, but none truly stood out to him in the moment. He felt as if he could pore over them later, on his way to sleep. He was currently too worried about himself and Katniss' survival. What followed this was the incident with Haymitch, and as Katniss offered to call one of the Capitol officials to help him clean their drunken mentor, Peeta declined. He wanted to do this out of kindness, and not pity. Perhaps this small act could get the older man to snap out of it and give them, he and Katniss both, a fighting chance.
He had already made up his mind to sacrifice himself for the beautiful girl he had admired for so long if it came to it, but he'd like to gain some tips in order to protect her as best he could in the arena first. After the obvious issues were taken care of, and Haymitch was devoid of the vomit but still soaking wet, he suddenly turned to Peeta and gazed at him fiercely.
"You like her, don't you?"
The question, in all its abruptness, did not faze Peeta as he continued to peel off the man's sopping jacket. "Yeah, what of it?" he began.
"That was a quick admittance. You must not like her that much if you were this easygoing about it."
"I do like her. A lot. And you like to drink. You probably won't even remember this conversation in the morning so there's no harm in having it."
"Touche', kid. But you liking her isn't going to help you in these Games. And it's not gonna help her either. In fact, it's gonna make her life even more of a hell."
Peeta was taken aback by these words. Haymitch must be talking drunkenly, all this must be from his alcohol-induced haze. Even if he looked stone-cold sober at the moment. How could his feelings for Katniss do anything but help her? She had an ally in him no matter what, and she didn't even know it!
"Explain that to me, then. I don't quite follow"
But Haymitch had fallen asleep.
As he lay in his quarters later, eyes losing much of their puffiness and redness, he wondered what could have been. What would Haymitch have said if he hadn't so conveniently passed out? What would have happened if someone had volunteered for him in the brave was that Katniss had in order to save her little sister? This act of pure love and sacrifice brought the image of the young girl from District 11 who was reaped. He was hit with a pang of sorrow for the little girl who reminded him vaguely of Prim. He supposed Katniss felt this way also, as her jaw twitched when she saw this particular clip.
He replayed the countenances of the other tributes in his mind, but none stood out so much as the pair from District 2, for the fierce gaze of the boy seemed to pierce his very soul. Yet he was also struck by another tribute, but not due to the qualities of strength, weakness, or intimidation this one could instill into him. Yes, this tribute was intimidating, and her intense glare at the cameras sparkled with ferocity, yet a hidden intelligence and wily nature lie there too. Any of the other tributes would be a fool to underestimate this one.
However, it was not these things that truly stuck with Peeta. It was her fiery orange hair, long and vibrant and sleek as it caught the wind. That color, the orange that Peeta so dearly loved, was now pitted against him. What he once thought so beautiful was not to be treated lightly any longer. Yet there was still an allure there, part of Peeta that saw this girl and knew there was something more to her that was aching to be explored.
It was with these thoughts that he finally was rocked to sleep by the movement of the train, images of frosted leaves and autumn air and of a fox faced girl racing through the trees, kicking up bloodstained leaves while she spun, laughing, her hair flickering like orange flames about her head in a strangely misplaced foreshadowing crown of fire.
Well, here we are. I was depressed, because I was brooding over the fact that my boyfriend and I won't see each other for the next 6 months and how incredibly awful that's gonna be. So I decided to re-read the Hunger Games (great idea, pick a fantastic but kinda depressing book about kids slaughtering each other, why don't you? That makes it all better!) and this just nagged at me. And I mean NAGGED. So I wrote what I could. It's funny, the idea was there when I first read the book but only because I noticed "Hey! I have red hair, and my boyfriend has blonde hair! We could be Foxface and Peeta!" ... Not normal, eh? Oh well. Enough of my ranting. My first attempt at Hunger Games fiction, it might suck, it might not. This is NOT a Katniss/Peeta story, although it might start out that way. I'm trying to follow the book as closely as I can without deviating too much, at least until later.
And yes, I am aware I have other projects. Imma work on those tomorrow, I swear... o.O
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does, the lucky lucky lady.
I know it's a tad weird, but that's how it's gonna be I guess. Reviews would be nice. :)