The Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark

Chapter 1

~ Peeta Mellark ~

~ Reaping Day ~

"Wake up, boy." I hear my mother growl in the doorway, slamming her aged fist on the old frame, so hard that dust shoots out of the decrepit material.

I sigh slightly and refrain from yelling back. I just bite my tongue as I always do, because I know I'll earn myself a good beating if I don't.

My eyes travel to my small window and they are met with a beautiful sunrise. The orange ball grows with every passing minute and I remember what today will hold for two unlucky children.

Almost certain death.

Reaping Day.

The Capitol treats it like a game, trapping children in an arena and making them fight to the death like rabid animals. It is a game to them, but here, its every parent and child's worst nightmare.

District 12 is small, and every night this week I have awoken multiple times to hear the screaming of mostly children, in fear of their lives on this day. They haunt me, because I know that they have every reason to be scared. I am too.

I get dressed quickly and comb back my hair. When I finally leave the safety of my room, I am met with the clock that reads 5:00 A.M.

'Just on time'. I think to myself as I run down the narrow stairway that separates our home from the bakery. My whole family, except my mother, are already filling out orders.

"Morning, son." My father says as he sets down our breakfast.

"Morning." I say in return, strapping my apron securely around my waist.

The kitchen is silent, my brothers not making a single sound. Maybe they're scared of Reaping Day too. We don't mention it though.

If we do, we'll be reminded of how many times some children's names are in those glass bowls. Mine is only in there five times, as my father is a Baker and I've never once had to sign up for Tesserae.

The poor have it the worst in this sick game that the Capitol plays with us every year. You already get your name entered once every year; it is like this for every child between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Here's the catch, though. Say you're starving and poor, like the majority of District 12 is. You can sign up to receive Tesserae, a grain that makes bread that feels like sawdust going down your throat. It can keep you alive, though, so no one complains. Half of them would eat anything that was thrown to them, so why would they complain about bread?

"Peeta?" My second oldest brother comes into view.

"Yeah?"

"Cook these squirrels for dad please? I really need to get started on this order for a cake."

"Okay. Where did he get those so early?" I ask, eyeing the fresh meat.

"Hawthorne. Stopped by this morning. Dad traded him a loaf of bread for it."

"Oh okay." I say, blowing it off.

He nods, hands me the meat, and starts to walk away.

"Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about today. Our names are only in there a few times. Some kids have their names in at least 50 times."

I cringe, but hide it. I instantly remember the starving girl I helped all those years ago. I think about it all the time. Her name must be in there a whole bunch of times, and it upsets me.

Katniss Everdeen.

"Yeah... thanks." I whisper.

He exits, and while I skin and chop up the animals, my mind wanders back to Katniss and her little sister, Prim.