Push. Fold. Push. Fold. Kneading bread gets my anger out. Especially if I imagine the round, beautiful lump of bread dough is my Mother's round, ugly face. Push. Fold. Push. Fold. Sweating from the heat of the oven, I picture yet another scene ending with mine and Katniss' bodies centimetres apart, our lips locked in a kiss.
Katniss Everdeen, the brown haired, angel voiced, beautiful girl I've fancied since we were both five years old. I adore her, everything about her; even the fact she never smiles, not anymore. Katniss Everdeen. Would she ever be Katniss Mellark?
I open the window- a cool breeze drifts in (along with coal dust), and dances around the Mellark bakery, instantly calming my anger and lowering the temperature of the room.
A bird flies through the open window, a bird I've not seen before, a bird I can't name- Katniss would be able to. As it's July, it must be boiling in its thick, feathery coat but it doesn't appear to be bothered by the heat.
There's something wrong though, there is a reason why the bird isn't moving, a reason why its white wings keep fluttering, flapping to keep it hovering there, just in-front of me. I notice a leather band tied around its leg. My fingers follow it round to an envelope addressed in black ink:
Peeta Mellark
The Mellark Bakery
District 12
Panem
For me? A letter for me? Delivered by a bird? I'm just taking it all in, about to break the wax seal- Ding. The bell on the door tinkles as my Dad bursts in...he opens it for me...he chucks into the fire in the oven's blazing fire. What. Was. That. For. Dad's supposed to be the soft one.
"Junk mail," He proclaims and walks out. Puzzled, shocked and angry at the same time, and stare at the paper as its devoured by the flames. What was in that letter that dad didn't want me to see?
