Chapter Two: Tribute Station, District Number Twelve
His eyes are closed, tightly shut, as if they were bound by scotch tape, hidden from the light of day. Though Peeta's sight may be out of play, clearly his other senses aren't – he can feel everything. The warm rays of the sun devouring his exposed skin, caressing it, slowly traveling up his body, shins to skull, as it rises to signify the beginning of a new day. Peeta's disheveled hair playfully sways with the cool wind, never once stilling in action, his clothes mimicking the motions.
Peeta feels perfectly calm… He's at peace with this world. He revels in this newfound glory. He's never felt anything quite like it.
Though, it's short-lived.
Peeta's two feet dangle in midair, struggling to reach some sort of ground, only to find none. Am I…floating? He begins to panic – Peeta doesn't fear much, but being suspended in the air without any sort of vision terrifies him. He kicks, back and forth, when suddenly he hears a voice – a woman's voice.
"It's all right, Peeta," she says. At that instant he's completely soothed, any sort of dread being released from his body in a second. His breathing becomes relaxed again. Who is this woman?
"You know who it is. It's me, honey." No. It can't be.
"Mom?" Peeta lets out, almost coming to slap himself for being so foolish. My mom is dead. I'll never get to speak with her again.
"Yes, Peeta," she sighs. He tries opening his eyes, only to receive more darkness. Though he can't see her, I can feel the smile she's wearing. So effervescent, like from her picture, it's contagious, and he soon finds himself wearing one as well. Tears begin to flow down his cheeks.
"How…? Why?" He has so many questions for her. Even if it's not her, if this is his own mind's creation of the woman he once called mother, Peeta knows she can help him.
"I know you have questions that need answers, and don't worry, you will get them. Right now is not the time, nor the place. I can't stay for long."
"What? How can you say that? You expect me to be okay with you whisking yourself away after a minute's conversation?" Peeta is furious. He doesn't want to be, he just wants to spend so much time with her. He's felt so alone ever since her departure from his life. "How could you!"
"I'm so sorry, Peeta. Leaving you was the hardest decision I've ever made in my life. I can't regret it, since it's kept you alive and safe since."
"But not happy." Wait. "Did you just say you chose to leave me? Leave our family?!"
"Peeta, listen to me. When you wake a new journey will begin – a journey you were destined to take. You will be surrounded by friends, old and new. Learn with them, fight with them...love with them. Do you remember when I said you were more special than you knew?"
Peeta wipes at his sore eyes, forcing the snot back up his nostrils. "Yes."
"Now's the time, my son. You will save the world from the evil that plagues it. It will be the hardest thing you have ever done, but just remember this: You are always loved. Remember?" They both smile. "I am so proud of you, Peeta." He can tell she's begun to cry. She holds back a few sobs, before saying her final statement and leaving him, her voice trailing away. "I love you…"
"No! Wait!"
"Mom…" Peeta sighs, once again reaching consciousness, his eyelids fluttering open. His head throbs as he takes in his first breath, forcing his eyes close again, his hand making its way to message both of his temples. That was one hell of a dream… That couldn't really have been her, could it?
"Hey. I think this one's awake," a man's voice booms out. Peeta opens his eyes again to catch sight of him, sitting beside his bed. Bright golden hair, the same blinding color as his mother's, only spiked and jetted out to oblivion; dark, mud-colored eyes scanning his own, though they seem to be almost hardened – with strength? Or pain? He's got a scar that runs diagonally across his face, starting in the upper left quadrant of his forehead, grazing over the point of where his eyebrows would meet if they were but one, and ending near the middle of his left nostril. How'd that get there? To say the least, he is extremely attractive... In a "I will beat your ass" tough guy sort of way, Peeta thinks. He can't be much older than he is. Peeta guesses a year or two.
"If you ask me about my face, I will punch you in yours," he says, tactfully, scrunching up his face, setting Peeta aflame with his eyes.
He was definitely thinking about it, but Peeta knew he didn't have the balls to ask. He shakes his head. "No, I wasn't…going to-"
"Good," he interrupts, getting up and leaving Peeta's side. Well, hit the nail on the head with that one. Peeta's eyes follow the man's path, with those stupidly broad shoulders, and come across an older man of about 45 years, as is apparent with his facial wrinkles. His long, dirty-blonde hair comes down to his shoulders, but not before two sets of bangs partially cover the right and left sides of his face, barely leaving his eyes to be seen. He speaks with Mr. Spiky Hair, Spikier Attitude for a few seconds before turning his attention to Peeta. He rises up in his bed, preparing himself for whatever is to . Wrinkles makes his way to Peeta's bed, but not before stumbling into a nurse, and subsequently apologizing and catching a view of her rear end.
Who the fuck are these people?
"Mornin' stranger," he greets Peeta, patting him on the shoulder. Why couldn't I wake to that? He sits down beside Peeta, slightly hunching over. "How're you feelin'?"
"All right, I guess," Peeta answers, scratching the back of his head. "Quite the charmer you got over there," he continues, motioning his head to the boy who recently accosted him. He catches Peeta's glance, watching from a distance with his arms crossed, before scrunching his eyes further then quickly turning away.
"Who, Cato?" He also looks back. Cato. "Yeah, he's not the warmest person in the world." He pauses and looks to Peeta again. "But he'll grow on ya. Before we get into all these questions I'm sure you've got, I think introductions are in order." He grabs the chart at the foot of Peeta's bed, grabbing the pen from the top, ready to write. "Name? We can't call you John Doe for the rest of your life, can we?"
"Right…" Peeta thinks out loud, looking down to his lap. What's my name again? Oh. He look back up. "Peeta Mellark."
"Peeta…" He begins writing, then stops. His head slowly comes up from the piece of paper, a look of shock coming over him. He sits there, examining Peeta's face, cocking his head back and forth like he had just admitted to being the second coming of Jesus Christ or something.
"Um. What?" Peeta asks, confused.
"Did you say…Mellark? Like George and...and Lily Mellark?"
"Yes!" Peeta exclaims, a little too loudly probably, but he doesn't care, he got excited. "Do you know my parents? Well…I guess the proper term would be 'do' for my dad, and 'did' for my mother. Or who knows, might be 'did' for both of them by now…" Excitement over.
The man sighs. He clearly knew them, or at least one of them, to have made that connection. "Mellark" isn't the most common name in the world, nor is it the least common, but Peeta is sure there aren't too many George and Lily pairings in the Yellow Pages. "I'm sure your dad's all right, kid. He's a tough guy," Mr. Has a Thing for Nurses assures me. He begins writing again. "So, Mr. Mellark. What brings you to the middle of the Saroo Desert?" We were in the middle of a desert? Peeta tells him everything, excluding the fact he and Katniss may have some sort of superpower – he wouldn't tell a stranger such a thing. Peeta tells him of the fight he had with Maybelle, which if he's being perfectly honest he's overjoyed at the possibility of never seeing her again; about the forest, being ambushed by several hovercrafts; about Katniss and himself on the train-
"Where's Katniss?" Peeta lets out in a hurried tone. He's ashamed he hadn't thought of her sooner. I was supposed to protect her... Looks like I failed again.
"Ah, Ms. Everdeen. She's pretty damn good, actually," the man replies. "Woke up yesterday, practically beating the crap out of everyone here." Peeta smiles. That sounds like Katniss. "She's said you two have only known about your powers for a day before collapsing in the desert. Yet she's got mighty fine control over hers."
"Wait, so you know about us? About…what we can do?" Peeta's hesitant to ask, fearful of the stranger's response. Is this some sort of government facility, ready to cut us open like dead toads?
He slowly nods, not looking away from that damned piece of paper. "Yes, yes I do." He looks at Peeta for the first time in a few minutes, seriously. "Kid, everyone here is in the same boat as you are." Peeta scans the area as the man continues speaking. "Runaways, confused souls, helpers for the cause." He sets Peeta's chart back down and stands up. "Can you walk?"
Peeta shrugs. "I can try." He pulls his legs over the left side of his bed. He winces when they reach the cold concrete below. That'll wake you up. He pushes himself off with his arms, noticing no real difficulty in using his leg muscles, and walks over to… Wait, what's his name? "Sir, can I get your name? Can't mentally call you Pervy Guy for the rest of my life, can I?"
Pervy Guy who-likes-to-touch ruffles Peeta's hair as they begin to walk. "Way to make a man feel loved, kid. Name's Haymitch Abernathy. I run this joint of misfits." By his laid back personality, and the ragged clothes he wears, Peeta wouldn't place him in charge of feeding his own pets, let alone who knows how many kids and adults. "And, for all that is right in this world, never call me sir again."
Peeta chuckles before getting into the heavier questions. "Did you know my parents?"
This causes Haymitch to quietly stiffen up, not sure how to respond. He answers simply, "Yes, I knew them both. We were all good friends." He pauses. "Your mother was a remarkable woman."
"You two must have been close," Peeta states, looking down at the grayish-brown concrete floor below. They both say nothing more on the matter.
"Where am I, exactly?"
"This-" He spreads out his arms wide, gesturing to the hallway we're walking down, his smile just as wide. "This is Tribute Station, District Number Twelve." They continue walking as Peeta take in the sights. The place is buzzing with people, so many different people. Tall, short, skinny, fat, cool hair, no hair, black, white. Happy, depressed, neutral. Every sort of person you could imagine.
"What's a tribute?" Peeta asks, dumbly.
Haymitch looks down at Peeta, almost condescendingly, before realizing there's no way Peeta could have possibly known what he was talking about. "A tribute is-" he begins, but cuts himself off. "We are tributes, Peeta. You, me, Cato, Katniss. About 40 years ago, a man by the name of Coriolanus Snow labeled us that way: tributes. He believed this world would be better off without people like ourselves." An irritated look comes across his face. "We're 'dangerous.' So, he began speaking, traveling, gaining followers, and soon enough he practically had the world at his feet, following his every word."
Chills run down Peeta's spine, just at the very mentioning of his name, and he didn't even know the guy. "You mean President Snow? He wants all of us dead?"
"Right you are, kid. He and his fellow 'Victors,' they call themselves, convinced way too many people across the globe that we were criminals: thieves, killers, you name it. Though, that isn't the case. Everyone has the potential to be a bad guy, not just tributes. Though, to be honest, we're better at it." He grins. "Anyway, he's been wiping us out for decades. And he's close to finally succeeding. There are a few different Tribute Stations scattered across the nation. Currently, we're trying to pull our numbers together – start a rebellion." Haymitch turns to Peeta. "And that's where you and your friends come in."
Peeta shakes his head in despair. "Sorry, Haymitch. But if you haven't heard I can't really do much. As much as I want to help you with your cause, my…power is...well, sort of useless." Peeta still isn't used to admitting it, that he indeed has a "power," like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. He knows he would have to be someday, but... Besides, how would I help, anyway? You can't exactly heal someone to death.
Haymitch stops Peeta in his tracks, grabbing him by the shoulders, turning his body to face Peeta's. He's looking almost too serious, something Peeta would never expect from a man like him. He looks Peeta straight in the eyes, and speaks, never once blinking. "Peeta, don't sell yourself short. Your gift is one of the most coveted, precious ones out there. One in a million. Billion, maybe." He lets Peeta go, and grunts to himself, turning his back toward Peeta, frustrated he can't find the right words. He turns back. "Man, kid – it's not about what kind of power you've got, or even if you've got any at all – it's about the power within. It's about the power and purity of your soul. And you-" the man pauses, raising his index. "You got all the power in the world."