The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Seven

My dreams are vivid. They begin with the tribute parade, Katniss and I in our burning costumes. Then the image distorts and suddenly we’re in the arena, the last two tributes, and Katniss is actually on fire; burning, burning. And my mother has that rolling pin again, and she’s beating me to death with it so Katniss will win. Then it all warps again, and I’m back in District 12. It’s that night, when I tossed the bread to Katniss except she dies before I can reach her-

            I take a shower to rid myself of these thoughts. I lose myself in the foam, letting the troubling thoughts dissolve in the soap and the rose scent, then they disappear down the drain. After drying myself I go to pick out an outfit but see clothes have been selected for me and are hung on the handles of the wardrobe: a long-sleeved burgundy tunic; tight black trousers and leather shoes. I wonder why they have possibly chosen my outfit today. Do they not approve of the clothes I have previously selected? Or maybe they are trying to prove a point? No- today is training day. I’ll need something simple but sturdy. I think about gelling my hair but decide to save that for a more formal occasion, like the interview, so leave it as it is. Now I have nothing left to do but pad around the room, waiting for the summons. The idea of leaving for breakfast before I am called appeals to me, but then I hear a voice.

            “Peeta?”

            “I’m coming,” I call to Haymitch. He nods to me. “Good morning,” I say.

            “Morning to you, too.” We begin to walk down to the dining room. Haymitch is walking so unsteadily I can’t tell if he’s sober or not. This could be the aftermath of his drinking.

            The first thing I notice when we enter the dining room is Katniss. She’s looking lovely dressed in the same outfit I am. Why are Portia and Cinna dressing us the same way? Our friendship- hypothetical or otherwise- will have to end in the arena where we’ll be trying to kill each other. I’ll have to ask Portia, if she’ll tell me. Haymitch is probably in on it too but there’s no way I’m asking him. Oh well, after our spectacular performance last night I’m in no place to question them.

            “Good morning, Katniss,” I venture, hoping to coax some words out of her.

            “Morning,” Haymitch greets. Katniss says nothing but smiles at me, so I know our friendship has grown, thanks to our talk on the roof last night.

            Haymitch and I wander over to a long table- a buffet table, I think it is called- to fill our plates. An Avox man is standing by it. It must be horrible, having to watch people eat, when it’s so hard to eat the little food given to you yourself. I try to imagine swallowing without a tongue but it’s impossible. Why would you want to commit a crime against the Capitol if the penalty is losing a vital organ? Still, I suppose Avoxes must have good reasons to rebel.

            There’s so much to choose from but I’m not hungry; the training is weighing heavily on my mind. I pick the lightest stuff there- some strange fruit I’ve never encountered before on my forays to the Hob; some round fluffy cakes Haymitch tells me are pancakes and a roll for good measure. As I sit down I notice Katniss dipping bits of her roll into her hot chocolate as I did last night. Hot chocolate! I spy the jug of it in the middle and pour myself a mug. The creamy beverage is probably the only thing I can manage- I can’t eat knowing what lies in wait for us today. We’ll be training with all the other tributes for three days, and after those three days we’ll perform in private in front of the Gamemakers. If this is how I’m feeling before training, how will I feel on the day before the actual Games?

            But the thought of actually meeting the other contestants gives me a churning feeling in my stomach. They’ll be trying to kill me, and if the worst comes to the worst I’ll be trying to kill them. Any conversation won’t seem genuine when, days later, our parting words will be violent and murderous. I look up at Katniss, who is turning a roll over in her hands, with no intent to eat it. Haymitch, on the other hand, has already gorged his way through servings of stew and now is taking a long sip from his flask.