This is the story of the Hunger Games, told from the point of view of Peetah. I think it would be interesting to know what he was thinking the whole time, since you never find out in the book! Please tell me what you think! It will be continuous, each chapter corresponding with its match number in the real book! Keep on the lookout, Ill post more chapters later. But for now, here is chapter one ;P
The Hunger Games:
As told by Peetah Mellark
Chapter one –
The first thing I feel before I wake up is the sun. Its hot rays beat down on my face and warm my skin. Today is the day, the day of the reaping. On a day like this, the sun is a great reassurance that they don't own everything; that there are still some things in this life the capital cannot take from us. I open my eyes and sit up in bed. I don't really feel like getting up, not today. Today I want to stay in bed, stay away from the horrors that will occur this afternoon. Today is the day of the Reaping. Today one boy and one girl will be taken from their homes and families and forced into a battle for their lives. They make us treat it as a holiday. But to me and the rest of the district people, it is a nightmare. Today two families from each district will pull their shutters closed in morning, while the rest of the people celebrate their children being spared another year. Hopefully, this will not be my family. Hopefully, they will not pick me. But hope is not kind here, our hopes have faded and died just as our people have from their harsh and uncaring rule. Hope has never prevailed, not the hopes of our people in the rebellion against the capital, not the hopes of the starving people in the streets, not the hopes of the families that have their children torn from their arms by the bloodthirsty vultures that cannot wait to see us die. So you see, we cannot trust in hope. In the end, hope only fails. Instead I must wait it out, and let fate run its course.
Today is a holiday, a day to stay home with our families. For me, it is another day of baking bread. My mother will soon come in to get me up, we have to bake fresh loaves for the customers, fresh cakes and pastries that people will want to eat tonight for celebration dinners. We do get some customers, but mostly the rich, which is not many. Most people cannot afford to eat such things. Papa said he may save a fresh loaf of bread and a few pastries for tonight, since tonight is a special night for celebration if I make it through the afternoon. I cannot wait for that, most of the food we get is stale or burnt things that others won't buy. My family is lucky, my mother says. We are not living on the streets, we need not fear starvation. We have a good home, with heat and water. I am grateful for this. But even our good fortune will not save us from the rule of the capital.
Sure enough, I heard a banging on my door. "Peetah! Get up and get dressed, it's time to start baking!" my mother shouted. Hastily, I pulled the covers off of me and walked across my room to my closet. I grabbed out some clothes and slipped them on, rushing to the kitchen to grab my apron. My father is already there, stirring up the dough. "Good morning father," I greeted, eyeing the squirrel lying on the counter before he turns and wraps it up in a cloth, and moves to put it away. I noticed it wasn't a clean kill; the creature was shot in the side of the head, not through the eye. It must have been someone else, not her. Hunting is illegal in District 12. Penalty of death, usually. But they starve us here, even if you enter your name extra times into the reaping, some still cannot survive well off the grain. Some people are desperate enough to risk it, to go outside the fence and hunt, then sell or trade the extra meat. My father always buys, although not when my mother is around. She calls them thieves, stealing what is forbidden are like stealing from the capital itself to her. But my father disagrees. I think he pities more than he likes the taste of the meat.
"Morning Peetah," my father grunts, returning to his work. Rolling up my sleeves, I go over to help him mold the bread. It isn't long before he sends me away to go get cleaned up. I return to my room and pick out the only suit I own. It is old, a hand me down of my father's, but it is still in good condition, and much nicer than what most people wear. I lay it out and make my way to our bathroom to wash up. I don't have much to worry about. After all, my family doesn't need the tesserae, so I am pretty safe for my age. But even so I still worry; I'm not out of it yet. After I am dressed, my mother comes in to brush my hair. She gently tugs out the knots and smoothes it down with her hand. My mother is not the kindest of persons, but today she is nice. She knows today might be the last day she sees me, and so she will show me a small act of kindness. As one o clock comes, we head for the square. It is crowded, there is not room for everyone, and so many fill the side streets. But as everyone signs in and children make their way to their roped off groups, it is silent. The usual bussle of the crowds and the buzz of chatter is gone; in its place is silence, with the bitter taste of grimness in the air.
I say goodbye to my parents and I am quickly herded over to the group of 16 year olds. We quickly exchange nods and turn our focus up to the stage that lies in front of the Justice Building. As the clock strikes two, the mayor approaches and tells us the story of the history of Panem. It's always the same one, the story of how the capital came to rise, and how rebellion rose in the dark days. It tells of how the districts fought and lost, of how District 13 was destroyed and the rest fell under the rule of the capital. It tells of why we have the Hunger Games. My mind drifts as he speaks. I've heard it all before. As for the victors of the Hunger Games, we have only one left alive. I watch disgusted as Haymitch stumbles onto stage, drunk. It is very obvious that our tributes do not stand much of a chance with him as a mentor. Effie Trinket quickly steps up the podium to wish us luck, a fake smile planted on her face, like she's happy to be here. "Isn't sad of me to have to manage a barbaric district like you," her eyes scream. I'm sorry if I'm not sympathetic.
"Ladies first!"Effie exclaims, reaches her hand into the girls reaping ball. She digs her hand around for a while, feeling for just the right piece of paper. Finally, one snags her finger and she pulls it out. Carefully smoothing the slip, she reads the name loud and clear."Primrose Everdeen". I feel a deep pain in my gut. I know that name. It's her sister, her little sister! Hope has failed me again, I realized as I looked over at Katiness. No, it wasn't her, but it might as well be. The look on her face said it all; she would never let her sister go die in the games. Even as I saw her rushing through the crowds to get to her sister, I felt my heart skip a beat. This was going to be the last time I would ever see her again. The last time I would look at her sweet, desperate face. She was a fighter, I knew that. But for district 12 tributes, going to the games is the same as going to your death. I reached us to touch my check, the one my mother had slapped twelve years ago, that raining night I had given her hope with two loves of burnt bread. There was nothing I could do to save her now, she would be gone.