I am left alone for a little over 10 minutes and in this time I try to put myself back together again.

I know my mother can be blunt. I know she can be harsh. But I didn't know she was capable of that.

I remember back to when I was 11. I had burned some bread in the bakery oven, just 2 small loaves. I told her it was an accident but it still warranted a punishment. I had a huge purple bruise just above my eye for around 2 weeks.

I realise I am crying at the memory, not crying, weeping. I dry my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt and then roll up my sleeves hoping to disguise the fact I have been crying.

I hope that my brothers at least will keep an eye out for me. That they have not already given up on me too.

I know that my father won't have.

He will be live in front of the television.

He will work whilst watching the games.

If he has deliveries to make, he will ask someone he trusts completely to carry out the duty instead, while he stays glued to the games.

A few years ago a boy in my brother's class at school was reaped. He was called Ostro, and he was like another brother to me.

He had worked at the bakery and my father had taken him under his wing, because he had lived at the orphanage here in 12.

It was, and still is a horrible place to live. They get one meal a day if they're lucky, and they are mostly avoided by the other children at school.

My father hated this and told us not to ignore these children. 'They have awful lives already, don't make them any worse.' He always told us. I was never brave enough to approach them, but my brother was.

Ostro was one of the most genuine and kind people I have ever known. He got stronger and stood taller as he spent more time at the bakery. He shared our bread which, although stale, was his favourite food. Our stale bread.

Then 2 years after he began working for my father, just as a helping hand around the bakery, he was reaped. He was 18. He would have been free, but it would seem the odds just weren't in his favour.

I was 14 when he died in the games.

My father looked out for him.

He didn't even sleep while Ostro was in the games.

In every free moment he found, my father would sit planted firmly in front of our old television box ignoring anyone else's presence but mine.

I was the one he trusted - to deliver his bread. He always thanked me when I returned home, and gave me a coin for giving up my evening, but I didn't spend the money.

I gave them away.

Each time I was given a coin, I would pass it on to an orphan at school. They never knew it was from me but I made sure they knew it was a gift. From a friend.

This is how I know my father will live, until I come home or until I die.

Thinking of my father waiting for me to return home should give me the motivation to try and win, but instead it makes me feel lower than dirt.

He may be rooting for me, watching every second of games coverage he possibly can, but it will not save my life.

I must do that. By removing the competition.

My stomach churns and flips as I imagine the competitors I may have to brutally slay to come out on top.

And my mind comes to rest on Katniss.

'I can't kill her' I whisper to myself just as the door swings open.

Effie is there, 'Come along Peeta!' she sings at me, and then she is telling me, 'Oh it's such a wonderful opportunity, for the both of you! You should be grateful to the Capitol really.'

At with that sentence I decide to ignore everything else that comes out of Effie's mouth.

I stand and leave the small room, my stomach still swirling with emotion.

I step outside tears beginning to well up again, and she is there. Katniss Everdeen is standing just across the hall from me.

I swallow back my tears and look her in the face.

She looks sad. Sad and confused, which is normal for this situation, but she has not been crying. Her expression is cold and as she returns my gaze, I think about how easily she could kill me.

I would be an easy target for her. She who can kill so cleanly, so efficiently.

I imagine what she must think of me.

I picture my pink face. My puffy, bloodshot eyes. Fresh from crying.

I am weak.

I remember my mother's words, 'Just try and die with some dignity would you?'

At that moment I am certain I am going to die.

As we begin walking out of the back doors of the justice building, we are ushered into a car.

I take in my home one last time. Knowing I will not see it again.

'Goodbye' I mutter, as the tears begin to cascade down my cheeks once more.


So there is my next chapter (:
I'm not sure how far I am going to go with this fanfic at the moment, but please review and I will try to write more! (: