I took the Mellark boys names from Greek, I spelled them in a way that made them more butchered phoenetic (based on the way Google translate pronounces) the way Peeta is as you'll see in this. With apologies to actual Greek people, but it was something that struck me about Peeta/Pita, the other day when I was thinking about /Greek: πίτα, ψωμί, ζύμη, literal: pita, pso̱mí , zými̱ , english: pie, bread, dough.

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div class="userstuff module" style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; width: 1088.625px; float: none; word-wrap: break-word; color: #2a2a2a; line-height: 19.4443206787109px;"
h3 id="work" class="landmark heading" style="border-width: 0px 0px 0.25em; border-bottom-style: double; border-bottom-color: #333333; outline: 0px; font-weight: 500; font-style: inherit; font-size: 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0.125em; line-height: 0; opacity: 0; height: 0px; clear: both; color: transparent;"Chapter Text/h3
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"I must sleep because I jerk awake. My head is pounding and my eyes—I'm glad the room is dark. I remember trying to talk to Johanna but not being able to answer her. I don't hear her. I call for her, my voice is thick and hoarse and it's hard to operate around my tongue which feels thick in my mouth but there's no answer. Maybe she's asleep too. Hopefully. Hopefully she's asleep—more hopefully she's breaking her way out of here, but best of the not so great scenarios, she's asleep and not been dragged off to some other room to be injected with things that make you see noodle arms, and people ripping bones out of your body because that. Didn't. Happen. It. Didn' /I can feel it though—more strongly than I remember Cato slicing my leg open in the first /My throat burns and my chest aches. I must have been trying to throw up, but there's nothing in my /It's hard not to drift and I don't want to but there's nothing else going on and trying to keep myself on track by listing things sends my thoughts off in other directions. I'm from District 12. District 12 mines coal. Katniss' father was a coal miner. Her mother was from the merchant district. We went to school together. Katniss and I, not her mother and I. We were drawn into the games. That...sucked. That is not a good line of thinking to be going on. Better things. Better things. When she wasn't embarrassed to let me sketch her, that day we had in the roof garden. That was almost perfect. Could almost forget the pending death and doom of /I feel guilty for how grateful I am to hear her scream—but it means she's still alive and angry. I can hear a guard or someone else shouting back and forth with her this time. It seems they're losing patience. After I don't know how long but during the time I am brought some punches and a small amount of water poured directly into my mouth rather than all over me, the shouting and screaming from the other cell stops with a final, "and the rest of your family too!" from /"Do I want to know?" I ask her. My voice is still scratchy but my tongue at least feels like it fits in my mouth /"Probably not," she /"Keep it real was your rule."br /"You sound less bat shit." There's a pause, "Worse than Wiress at the beach, Twelve, and Batshit is a terrible nickname doesn't really go with coal. I could probably make it work though, I mean it does burn..."br /I lean my head back. The muscles in my bone and neck pop and crackle like wood on a fire, "Pretty sure they drugged me," I point /"You're getting drugs too?" she snorts, "They let you keep your hair. They've giving you drugs. Well, you two always were the favorites."br /I have to laugh, and then I stop, "I'm sorry. It's not funny."br /"It's a little bit funny," she says, "and what else have we got going on in here?" the last part she yells angrily. I wonder if she's glaring at the ceiling like she did when she pointed out to Snow he couldn't throw everyone in the /"It's prison."br /"It is?" she snorts, "and here I was all dressed up for a ball."br /I can't say anything. I can feel the need to cough rising in my /"You're losing your sense of humor, Blondie. There's no hope left."/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"In my sleep there are two of /I'm pushed and pulled, clawed and /I hear her calling my name, desperate to find me, /I hear her calling for me like a cat who wants to toy with it's /It's almost a relief when my mother slams my head into the bread oven./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"I wake up coughing hard. My chest aches—my whole body aches, but my chest, the most and my head throbs. There are colored spots dancing about the room as I try to look /I don't hear Johanna, but I can't make my voice work to ask if she's there, either, all that comes out is a croaking squeak. There's no way she would hear that. Some kind of sickness, obviously. What are they going to do about that?/p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"I'm being dragged again, coughs rattle in my chest. I can...hear...the guards talking to each other, lights keep flickering and it feels warmer than normal, maybe that's me./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"Bright, and the strap bed again. It's hard to breathe. Purple and—no, Lethate, and /"I see," he says, "Well, antibiotics, if we put a strong dose in alongside neither integrity will be damaged and, hm, dextromethorphan has some sedative properties combined with the two and some dissociative properties might actually be helpful to the whole process. We can get everything cleared up or at least locked down before he goes."br /"Goes?" I manage to croak /"Throat spray," they both say, and there's the itching starting again and I feel myself melting into the floor./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"I'm with my father and my brothers we're taking turns pushing the cart that we're gathering fire wood in. Jeemi is complaining that we can't just use the coal that we /"The Capitol needs the coal," Our father /"Plus the bread would taste nasty, stupid," my other brother points /Father tells him off. He is young. He doesn't know things yet. We don't keep the coal for the same reason we don't keep the bread or the cakes or the pastries. It's for other /I feel the wolves coming, and the keepers are there at the rescue white metal and guns as we hide behind the cart. The guide us back safe to the bakery, and my father gives them product from the shop as a thank you. My mother scolds the lot of us. They argue into the night pans and things banging and clattering around. We cluster in one room and Shohmi sings off key over the noise while Jeemi cries and I hug him too numb to do much else. Shohmi tries to get us to join in with him on the song but neither of us will, frustrated he begins banging out the beat on the wall and the bed until Mom comes stomping into the room screaming at us /A while later we are all sore and shivering under blankets trying to sleep. No one dares make a sound./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;"There is someone in school who sings better than /Her name is gone /I think I gave her food once and was /But I've been beaten for many things./p
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-weight: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-size: 15.1199998855591px; font-family: inherit; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5;""We have to get to know each other—we're going to be on this ride forever. That's what he said. At least we can be civil. It'll make things easier."br /"What's the point?"br /Things rock from side to side, train—it's supposed to be smooth; but there's screeching, everything rough and tumble, end over end and people coming in, storming the train. Have to defend. Have to stay safe. One after another, block, disarm, defend, destroy, defend, destroy, /Destroy./p
/divI must sleep because I jerk awake. My head is pounding and my eyes—I'm glad the room is dark. I remember trying to talk to Johanna but not being able to answer her. I don't hear her. I call for her, my voice is thick and hoarse and it's hard to operate around my tongue which feels thick in my mouth but there's no answer. Maybe she's asleep too. Hopefully. Hopefully she's asleep—more hopefully she's breaking her way out of here, but best of the not so great scenarios, she's asleep and not been dragged off to some other room to be injected with things that make you see noodle arms, and people ripping bones out of your body because that. Didn't. Happen. It. Didn't.

I can feel it though—more strongly than I remember Cato slicing my leg open in the first place.

My throat burns and my chest aches. I must have been trying to throw up, but there's nothing in my stomach.

It's hard not to drift and I don't want to but there's nothing else going on and trying to keep myself on track by listing things sends my thoughts off in other directions. I'm from District 12. District 12 mines coal. Katniss' father was a coal miner. Her mother was from the merchant district. We went to school together. Katniss and I, not her mother and I. We were drawn into the games. That...sucked. That is not a good line of thinking to be going on. Better things. Better things. When she wasn't embarrassed to let me sketch her, that day we had in the roof garden. That was almost perfect. Could almost forget the pending death and doom of 75.

Screaming.

I feel guilty for how grateful I am to hear her scream—but it means she's still alive and angry. I can hear a guard or someone else shouting back and forth with her this time. It seems they're losing patience. After I don't know how long but during the time I am brought some punches and a small amount of water poured directly into my mouth rather than all over me, the shouting and screaming from the other cell stops with a final, "and the rest of your family too!" from Johanna.

"Do I want to know?" I ask her. My voice is still scratchy but my tongue at least feels like it fits in my mouth now.

"Probably not," she says.

"Keep it real was your rule."

"You sound less bat shit." There's a pause, "Worse than Wiress at the beach, Twelve, and Batshit is a terrible nickname doesn't really go with coal. I could probably make it work though, I mean it does burn..."

I lean my head back. The muscles in my bone and neck pop and crackle like wood on a fire, "Pretty sure they drugged me," I point out.

"You're getting drugs too?" she snorts, "They let you keep your hair. They've giving you drugs. Well, you two always were the favorites."

I have to laugh, and then I stop, "I'm sorry. It's not funny."

"It's a little bit funny," she says, "and what else have we got going on in here?" the last part she yells angrily. I wonder if she's glaring at the ceiling like she did when she pointed out to Snow he couldn't throw everyone in the arena.

"It's prison."

"It is?" she snorts, "and here I was all dressed up for a ball."

I can't say anything. I can feel the need to cough rising in my chest.

"You're losing your sense of humor, Blondie. There's no hope left."

In my sleep there are two of her.

I'm pushed and pulled, clawed and cajoled.

I hear her calling my name, desperate to find me, worried.

I hear her calling for me like a cat who wants to toy with it's food.

It's almost a relief when my mother slams my head into the bread oven.

I wake up coughing hard. My chest aches—my whole body aches, but my chest, the most and my head throbs. There are colored spots dancing about the room as I try to look around.

I don't hear Johanna, but I can't make my voice work to ask if she's there, either, all that comes out is a croaking squeak. There's no way she would hear that. Some kind of sickness, obviously. What are they going to do about that?

I'm being dragged again, coughs rattle in my chest. I can...hear...the guards talking to each other, lights keep flickering and it feels warmer than normal, maybe that's me.

Bright, and the strap bed again. It's hard to breathe. Purple and—no, Lethate, and another.

"I see," he says, "Well, antibiotics, if we put a strong dose in alongside neither integrity will be damaged and, hm, dextromethorphan has some sedative properties combined with the two and some dissociative properties might actually be helpful to the whole process. We can get everything cleared up or at least locked down before he goes."

"Goes?" I manage to croak out.

"Throat spray," they both say, and there's the itching starting again and I feel myself melting into the floor.

I'm with my father and my brothers we're taking turns pushing the cart that we're gathering fire wood in. Jeemi is complaining that we can't just use the coal that we mine.

"The Capitol needs the coal," Our father says.

"Plus the bread would taste nasty, stupid," my other brother points out.

Father tells him off. He is young. He doesn't know things yet. We don't keep the coal for the same reason we don't keep the bread or the cakes or the pastries. It's for other people.

I feel the wolves coming, and the keepers are there at the rescue white metal and guns as we hide behind the cart. The guide us back safe to the bakery, and my father gives them product from the shop as a thank you. My mother scolds the lot of us. They argue into the night pans and things banging and clattering around. We cluster in one room and Shohmi sings off key over the noise while Jeemi cries and I hug him too numb to do much else. Shohmi tries to get us to join in with him on the song but neither of us will, frustrated he begins banging out the beat on the wall and the bed until Mom comes stomping into the room screaming at us instead.

A while later we are all sore and shivering under blankets trying to sleep. No one dares make a sound.

There is someone in school who sings better than Shohmi.

Her name is gone now.

I think I gave her food once and was beaten.

But I've been beaten for many things.

"We have to get to know each other—we're going to be on this ride forever. That's what he said. At least we can be civil. It'll make things easier."

"What's the point?"

Things rock from side to side, train—it's supposed to be smooth; but there's screeching, everything rough and tumble, end over end and people coming in, storming the train. Have to defend. Have to stay safe. One after another, block, disarm, defend, destroy, defend, destroy, destroy. Destroy. Destroy.