Hey! Thanks for the review, I would love constructive feedback. I never even though anyone would read this, much less review. So thanks so much! -toucantrebleclef
Disclaimer- not trying to plagiarize, this is Suzanne Collins work and OC
Chapter Two
Peeta
Although today is the day of the reaping, tomorrow is not. And that is why I have to bake bread for it.
All day I bake, knead and combine ingredients rhythmically. I keep glancing at the clock, because at 11:00, I can stop baking and relax into frosting my cakes. It's such an art, frosting cakes. I love it, the delicate designs and patterns with rich frosting my family never can afford. Only the rich can buy my cakes.
It's funny how I can spend so much time doing this thing, but never have been the customer.
I watch the second hand make almost a full circle before turning back to my bread.
I still have half an hour before cake time. It's time for lunch, anyway, so I finish shaping the dough and put it out to rise. Then I take the risen bread from this morning and put it in the oven.
Our family does not eat meals together. Ever. There is only one day when this happens- when one of us might be gone forever. Today.
I set the table, putting out plates. I walk to the storefront, which needed to be cleaned out anyway, and take the stale loaves from the window. As I do, I glance out the window. Nothing else stirs. No one has to be awake- except us- this early. Even the mice seem to be sleeping in.
Turning away from the peace, I adjust the loaves in my arms. The rough bread against my arms reminds me how stale this bread is, and how poor, but how lucky we are. No. I will not dwell on the bad, this always happens, how can I act ungrateful after what life has given us. Instead I deposit the loaves on the table, and walk down to the musty, old cellar.
"Peeta!" I hear a shout and inwardly cringe, frozen on the third step of the cellar. Mother. She is the perfect example of what the Capitol does to its people. Her best friend, killed in the games. Her beloved, who had married her at a young age, whipped to death for stealing. And even my own father, who doesn't love her as he should. Who loves another woman. Katniss's mother.
I love her too, but I can never have her. Like father like son.
"Yes, Mother?" I call, before the silence gets too long. I know exactly what she is going to say, she says the same thing every year.
"Peeta, the reaping is at 1 o'clock. You need to be ready by twelve!"
I glance at the clock, and receive a jolt. It's 11:56. "Yes, Mother!" I shout again, already running back up the cellar stairs
Gale
Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,
My thoughts fall into time with my feet. Left, right. Katniss.
I run into the Meadow, my feet sloping downward. I slide to a stop in the damp, dewy mud, and listen for a hum that tells the fence is on with electricity. Nothing. I slide under the wires, and pull myself up. I start to jog the hour and a half trek to our spot.
Looping around trees, my feet guide me to the nearest snare. Then I stop. I'll do it with Katniss. I want to see her as soon as possible.
The rhythm of my steps fall into the background. I breathe the clean air, sans coal and people. The trees give off a piney, homey smell. As I jog, I pull a handful of soft pine from the tree which we first cut last reaping. Katniss taught me that there was food in the woods themselves, not just the inhabitants. I chew the soft wood, and the woods is now not just around me, but inside me. I feel the pine's nutrients seeping into my blood, and jog quicker.
I reach our rock in record time. She's not here yet. But she will be soon. I sit on the rock bench, fiddling with the arrows in my quiver. I have a moment of inspiration, and dig the arrow into the bread, puncturing the hard outer crust, and temporarily filling the air with the aroma of freshly baked bread.
Soon, I hear soft footsteps. Katniss. I straighten, already relieved. I watch as her face clears the edge of the hill. Her pace quickens, and I can tell she is pleased to see me too.
"Hey Catnip," I say. I remember when I gave her that name.
We were in the woods, and she was about to touch my snares. "Careful," I had said. She jumped and spun. "What's your name?" She mumbled something. Catnip? What an odd name. No matter. "Well, Catnip, stealing's punishable by death."
She cleared her throat. "Katniss. And I wasn't stealing. I was just looking. Mine never catch anything." She gestured to her bow. "This is how I get food." My eyes locked on the bow. A bow! A rarity, capable of killing enough food. Based on more skill, and less chance, unlike my snares. "Can I see that?" I had said.
"Just remember, stealing is punishable by death." A smile rose out of me, and I saw amusement in her eyes. I knew that the beginning of an era was coming.
"Look what I shot!" I wave the bread in the air, with the arrow in it. She grins, then laughs. Taking the bread, she pulls out the arrow and deeply inhales. Her face transforms, melting. "Mm, still warm." It's delicious. And such a good deal, too.
As if she can read my mind, Katniss says, "What did you trade for it?" I can see her thoughts written all over her face. She knows it should have been expensive.
I shrug. "Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning. Even wished me luck."
"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I don't even bother to snort. The Capitol is such a joke. A deadly one, but a joke. "Prim left us a cheese."
I brighten. Prim's goat, Lady, makes the best cheese all around. The cheese is wrapped in a basil leaf, to keep it fresh as a dewdrop. Just like Prim. This cheese will be perfect with this bread.
"Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast." The cheese is richer than anything, except the Capitol. Ugh. The Capitol. The Day of the Reaping is today, it slipped my mind, seeing Katniss.
Suddenly my voice goes up, trilling. "I almost forgot!" I say in the ridiculous voice of Effie Trinket, the Capitol representative for District Twelve. "Happy Hunger Games!" I turn and swiftly pull a blackberry from the bushes around us. "And may the odds-" I toss the berry high, with perfect, practiced accuracy-
"-be ever in your favor!" she trills, sounding equally ridiculous. The berry falls into her mouth, and she snaps it shut.
I pull a knife from my belt and begin slicing the thick, rich bread. I can feel Katniss watching me, and it makes me feel safe. Of course, I can protect myself, but there is something in her gaze.
I love her. I matter to her most, and vice versa. I love her and she loves me. I'm not saying in what way, because I'm still figuring that out myself.
I slide the knife through the cheese, then onto the bread as Katniss plucks berries from the surrounding bushes. The peace of our team, our friendship, envelopes us. There is nothing but the gentle rustling of the bushes and our synced breathing.
I silently hand her a piece of bread, covered in goat cheese and decorated with a basil leaf. We recline in the rock, close. The trees are vibrant, the sky clear, the day quiet, and Katniss by my side. This would be a perfect day if it weren't today.
