Theme 1: Light

Peeta walked down the icy winter street, carrying a small basket. He knew it was silly, but he always wished he could have something better to carry the baked goods he made every day. It wasn't that he was too picky; it was just that parading though Victor's Village with a basket full of muffins wasn't exactly very macho.

He stopped himself from not turning immediately down the familiar pathway to town. It had been almost a year, and yet he still wasn't used to living in such a quiet place. He missed the bulky noise that accompanied living in the market area of District 12. His house had a giant kitchen that was probably even larger than the bakery itself, so he didn't often go to town except to visit his family.

Taking a deep breath, he himself to turn right instead of left, squinting at the beams of cold sunshine that decided to fling themselves directly into his dusky blue eyes. Finally, he arrived at a house that, from the outside, looked like a lavish place to live. However, on the inside, he knew it was a mess he wasn't sure even pigs would enjoy.

Opening the door, he wrinkled his nose at the smell composed of mold, stale alcohol, and general filth. Wading through the debris, he decided to talk to Katniss about finding someone to clean this place. He had heard Gale's mother was looking for work. God knew Peeta had money to burn; he decided to do as soon as he went into town.

"Wake up Haymitch." He called as he strode into the kitchen, frowning at the man strewn across the wooden table. "Why is it so dark in here?" he muttered. Walking across the room, he yanked open the hole-ridden curtains. The sudden light that belted its way through the glass woke the man there with a snort. Realizing he was not the only one in the room, Haymitch pulled out the knife he always kept with him, despite his hands being too shaky to get a good grip on it. When he realized it was only Peeta, he scowled and put his head back on his arms, waving one hand at the baker's son in a frustrated manner.

"Turn the light off, boy." He rasped.

"That's called the sun, Haymitch. Remember it?" Peeta said, dumping the basket on the table. Haymitch lifted his head with a sour look, then sighed and grabbed a large roll made out of a sweet tasting wheat bread. Biting into it, he examined the boy standing in front of him.

"Where's the girl?" he said through a mouthful of the bread.

"Hunting." Peeta said stiffly, pulling up a chair. He quickly leapt off of it, though, when he realized he had sat on half of a broken bottle of liquor. "Geez Haymitch. Can you not at least clean up after yourself?"

His mentor decided not to answer, merely grabbing another roll.

"Did you see what rolled into town today?"

"No, I haven't had a chance to go to the market today."

"Well, you might want to take that chance."

Now Peeta was suspicious. "Why? What's wrong?"

"A whole parade of cars came in today, all with the capital's seal on them."

Peeta went stiff, his back going straight, sucking in a hiss of air. "Cars from the Capitol? Here? Cinna, Portia and the others aren't supposed to be here yet."

"I don't think it's your stylists."

"Well then, who could it be?"

Haymitch didn't answer, but simply looked Peeta straight in the eye. "It's getting colder. Looks like it might even snow today. Be careful on your way back, it could get icy." It was both a dismissal and warning. Peeta's eyes widened, and then went as blank as his face. "I see. Thanks for telling me." At his mentor's nod he stood and walked out of Haymitch's house.

He was almost home when he saw them. A small squad of Peacekeepers surrounded one man with pale skin and a tight face. Peeta did not say a word as he passed him, and merely nodded his head in respect. President Snow looked at him, eyes full of both disdain and calmness that seemed deadly. "Hello Peeta Mellark." He said quietly.

"President Snow." Peeta said, nodding his head once again. Without another word, he passed by the group quickly and wrinkled his nose at the stench of roses. He had never liked the smell; it was too potent for his tastes. Striding down the street, Peeta looked at the sky, a small nest of foreboding settling in his heart.

The light of the sun had never looked so threatening before.