Hey all, thanks for reading! This is my interpretation of Peeta's story throughout the first book of The Hunger Games trilogy. I like to think I take a different view on Peeta compared to many people, and hopefully you all agree!

Read and comment - I'll appreciate any feedback!

Chapter One

I awake with a start, panting slightly, trying to blink the sunlight streaming in through my bedroom window. After a moment, my bedroom comes into clear view and I'm able to lay my head back down, staring blankly at the ceiling. It must be late, I realize, blinking the sleep from my eyes and willing myself to sit up. It's rare that I get to sleep past dawn. My mother would usually bang on my door, shouting that there was work to be done before the bakery downstairs opened for the day. But today, it seems, my father has convinced her to grant me a little bit of mercy, trying to help me put off facing this day as long as possible.

Breathing deeply, I push myself upright and pull on my working clothes. I wander downstairs to where the bakery is already alive, with my two brothers – Jayme and Kane – and father hurrying between the ovens and the counter where customers await. My mother is nowhere to be seen, which I am fairly grateful for. Throwing myself into work with my family, they each pause briefly to clasp me on the shoulder as I walk past. I try to ignore them. I try to shrug them off and act like I'm not scared for what awaits. But of course, all families feel this way today.

There's a strong knock at the door out back, which my father runs to respond to immediately. When he opens the door I see a tall, broad-shouldered boy standing out back carrying a game bag that I'm sure is full of the squirrels my father loves to buy. It's Gale Hawthorne, an older boy from the poorest part of town – the Seam. Though I'm sure he has no clue who I am, I still choose to move away and out of his line of sight as he and my father begin to chat and discuss a trade.

"Good morning Gale," my father says, just a hint of sadness in his voice, "What do you have today?"

"Mr. Mellark," Gale replies, "I have a good batch of squirrels. How many for one full loaf of bread? I have four on me right now."

"Not necessary Gale, just one will be fine today, I think," Gale pauses, as if unsure whether there is a catch to this trade. But I think the sadness and warmness in my father's voice just convinces him of his kind intentions. Today, of all days, we have cause to be kind to each other. My father retrieves one of the warm rolls that my brother just pulled out of the oven and walks over to the door, quickly trading the roll for the squirrel before my mother comes back in.

"Thank you, Mr. Mellark," Gale says.

"Of course, Gale. Good luck today. And make sure you share that," Gale and my father share a quick laugh.

"Thank you, good luck to you too. Don't worry, I will definitely have to share this with at least one person," he states with a laugh. With that, he leaves. My father glances at me, and I see a sad expression in his eyes as he meets mine. I get the feeling we both know exactly who he's sharing his bread with. I allow a sad smile to touch my lips briefly, and then return to work.

Our customers stream in steadily, buying bread, pies, or whatever they can afford for their celebratory feasts this evening, happy that their children have been spared another year. But, of course, for two families, their children will not be returning. They will have been picked at the reaping that will occur this afternoon and will be stepping into an arena to fight to the death against 22 other children from around the other 11 districts of Panem.

The Hunger Games. The annual reminder to all twelve districts of Panem of the rebellion that we had led against the Capitol, more than 74 years ago.

I dwell on the thought of the Games for a while as I work, thinking about past tributes and each year's victor, the bloody fights and many children sacrificed. Before I know it, I'm shaking, and my father grasps my arm and just says simply,

"Go wash up, I'll make you some food."

After I've scrubbed myself head to toe and dressed myself in the nicest pants and shirt that I own, I wander downstairs again to find my father seated with fresh rolls in front of him, still steaming from the oven. My brothers wander around him, still serving the occasional customer, but now mostly just watching me approach the table and take my seat. This year, for the first time, I'm the only one young enough to be in the reaping bowl – they're all over 18 now.

"Don't worry Peeta, you're not going to be reaped. Think about the odds of it," Kane says. I allow myself a small smile, thinking of Effie Trinket, the effervescent District 12 escort whose excited tagline of "may the odds be ever in your favor" will ring out across the town square this afternoon. Jayme claps me on the shoulder and quickly adds,

"Not like you're one of those Seam kids who have their names in a million times. It's so unlikely, you can hardly even be worried." Though this strikes a chord of truth, it does nothing to improve my mood. I glance at my father again, and see that the same sadness has entered his eyes as well. He knows that I'm thinking of at least one Seam resident who we would both be shattered to see go, and who I'm sure has had to get plenty of extra Capitol-issued food for her family, meaning her name could be in that reaping ball countless times. I quickly try to shake the thoughts from my head, though now I'm filled with enough worry for the both of us.

My father shoos my brothers from the room, telling them to go get cleaned up as he begins to move around to shut down the school for the reaping.

"You'd better eat, son, and get ready to go. It's almost one. You have to leave for the square soon," I nod and start in on the fresh rolls my dad set out, my throat getting dryer and dryer with every bite.

At one, I squeeze my way through the already assembling crowd at the town square in front of the old justice building to join the other sixteen year-old boys of District 12, standing amongst several of my friends from school. We stand towards the back with the other merchant kids, giving space to the shaking Seam kids. By two, the square has completely filled with all of the residents of the District, and the ceremony commences. The District 12 mayor and Effie Trinket walk out on stage and take their seats, leaving the third seat – meant for District 12's only living mentor, Haymitch Abernathy – untouched. The mayor gets up and goes through his annual speech about the history of Panem and the war that led to the emergence of the annual Hunger Games.

As Effie gets up to give her annual speech and pull names from the reaping balls that stand ominously on the stage, Haymitch stumbles drunkenly out on stage and there is momentary chaos on stage. It takes a minute, but soon Effie has regained control of the situation and too soon she is beginning to approach the ball containing the District 12 girls' names. I cross my fingers, and steal a glance over at the Seam girl who I pray is not called. Katniss Everdeen, looking beautiful in a simple blue dress and her hair pulled back, is gazing intensely at the stage, I think also praying that her own name is not called.

"Primrose Everdeen!" I hear Effie's voice ring out.

My heart sinks.