Dear Mum,
Let's face it, you never had any faith in me. When I came home, you told me I owned Katniss my life for saving it, so I'm going to die for her. In the quell. You didn't even cry when you found out.
Maybe you were too dumb, or you just accepted that I was going to die. That hurt me more than your hitting ever did. I can't ask you now so it doesn't matter. Look after your sons; don't let them be alone without anyone to turn too. I can't face coming home again.
Do you remember when I was twelve and you showed me the meadow where a gorgeous butterfly landed right on my arm, with lots of different colours that shone in the light? It was so beautiful I went home and iced it onto a cake, it wasn't the best but I didn't want to sell it. I wanted you to have it. When I passed it to you, to you, your whole face lit up with happiness and you bend down and kissed me on the cheek. That was my best day ever with you.
It was so beautiful that you didn't eat it; you left it on your bedroom draws next to the picture of me. The next day, I went into your room, late at night and you were curled up in a ball on the bed, sobbing silently with big fat tear rolling down your cheek.
The day before my first reaping.
The next day, when I was at the reaping I saw a butterfly land on a nearby place just as the boy's name was called. For ages I thought the butterfly had kept me safe from the Games, but now I think it was you.
I really love you, very much. You're still my mother. And I'm still your son. That doesn't change. Just, you can't protect me anymore.
With my help, Katniss might really stand a chance, and twelve will have a Victor still, just like you said.
Goodbye, Peeta