The Hunger Games: Peeta's POV

Chapter 1

District 12 is filled with starving people. I watch them as they walk past the bakery, hunched over, clutching their empty stomach's. This is why I always close the curtains while I eat. Not because I'm antisocial, or hate the sunlight like my mom thinks, just because I can't bare to watch hungry people walk by, while I'm filling my stomach with fresh bread. Well, I wouldn't say fresh bread. I eat the bread that's too good for the animals, and too stale for the customers.

My mom comes stomping down the stairs, with a scowl on her face. She scowls so often, I'm starting to think it's a permanent part of her face. "Peeta!" She screams at me. "Why aren't you getting ready! Didn't anybody remind you, it's reaping day!" I feel like a swallowed a rock, as I think of the possibility of my name being picked. It feels terrifying, killing other innocent children for the Capitol's entertainment.

I leave my half­eaten bread on the table, and head upstairs to look for any half­decent clothes of mine. As my fingers run through my assortment of clothes, I think of the possibility of my name being picked. I have two older brothers. Clyde, who is eighteen, and Glenn, who is lucky to be nineteen, and out of the reaping. I know for sure that if my name is picked, Clyde won't volunteer, and vice versa, if Clyde were picked.

It sounds so depressing, so cruel the way my family works. But I've learned to understand that my family is selfish. Everyone, except for my father, cares for no one but themselves. My father however, is a kind person. He buys meat from Katniss, even when he knows we don't need it.

I hesitate for a moment, at the thought of Katniss Everdeen.

My hands finally fall upon a white, button­down shirt, and a pair of beige dress pants. All my other clothes consist of black tee­shirts, and sweatpants, smeared with white stains from carrying flour around. This will have to do, as my family isn't exactly rich.

By District 12 standards, we live in luxury, eating enough so that our ribs don't show through our skin. But by Capitol standards, we are poor, eating barely enough food to keep us alive. I'm surprised the people of the Capitol have not exploded from all the food they have eaten.

Once I've changed, and fixed myself to look presentable, I head downstairs, where Clyde, Glenn and my parents finish scraping the last pieces of bread from their plate. I patiently wait, and soon enough, we walk towards the square, where the pooling is held every year, where District 12 looses two citizens every year. Except for Haymitch, the rarely-sober mentor, who surprising survived the second Quarter Quell.

Since my family owns a bakery, and we are in no desperate need of food. My name is only entered five times, the minimum of someone my age. Unlike the boys who have their names in 40 times, I have no chances of being picked, I'm sure of it.

When my family reaches the square, I take a stand with the other sixteen year old males, everyone sharing the same grim face. Ahead of us, on the podium, sits Effie Trinket and the mayor.

As the clock strikes two, the mayor gets up to deliver a speech, telling us about the rebellion, and how we sacrifice our children, to ensure their is never again another uprising. I wish the people who came up with the Hunger Games were more logical. Rebellion or Hunger Games, there will still be bloodshed and death. Once the mayor is done ranting nonsense, he announces Haymitch, who is so drunk I wonder if he will pass out right there.

Next, Effie steps forward, and happily cries, "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!" She then walks over to the girl's glass ball, and cheerily says, "Ladies first!" Her happiness is nauseating.

Taking her sweet time, she picks a name and reads the label. "Primrose Everdeen!" She calls. Everdeen. That's Katniss's last name. I almost feel sad, but I have my own things to think about, beyond a pretty girl's trouble.

I look over to the pale little girl, who looks as if she's seen a ghost. If I could, I would volunteer. Maybe then Katniss would notice me. But no. Once again, a pretty girl's trouble's are not worth my life. Then again my life has so little worth...

As Primrose walks towards the stage, I hear Katniss cry, "Prim! Prim!" And then I hear something that District 12 hasn't hear in a long time. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" There is some confusion, and a moment of silence, before Effie brightens the mood with her usually petty and careless manner.

"Lovely!" says Effie. "But I believe there is a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..." she trails off, obviously stalling.

"What does it matter?" the mayor says, the clear pity in his voice. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

This causes an uproar with Primrose, as the screams and cries, "No, Katniss! No! You can't go." Katniss replies, but I'm too far away to hear her. Whatever she says doesn't seem to move Primrose anyhow.

Then I see that strong boy who hunts with Katniss step up and lift Primrose, while she thrashes and claws everywhere. She strangely reminds me of her cat, the ugly one with strange ears.

Effie is over­the­moon ecstatic, as she cries, "Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"

Katniss swallows, and quietly replies, "Katniss Everdeen."

Effie beams, as she says, "I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody, Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" I wonder what happened to Effie's brain. The Capitol must of had it removed, as I've never seen anything like this. How can she bare to watch the innocent die, while the rich sit around eating lamb stew and dried peaches. Maybe because she is the rich.

Everybody awkwardly stands around, as Effie waits for an applause. Instead, the members of the crowd touches their three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to Katniss, who stands shell­shocked at the podium. Although I join in, I'm just as shocked as Katniss. This gesture is rare and old, used as a sign of admiration. It means we thank you, and will miss you. I know I certainly will.

Ruining the moment, Haymitch steps towards Katniss, and says, "Look at her. Look at this one!" He throws an arm around her shoulder and continues. "I like her. Lot's of... Spunk! More than you! More than you!" He directs the last sentence to the camera, probably referring to the people who will go home, safe for another year, as they watch these kids turn into aimless murderers. He then falls off the stage, unconscious from either the fall, or the alcohol. Probably the alcohol.

As Haymitch is taken away on a stretcher, Effie continues. "What an exciting day!" she says, as if seeing a drunk man fall off a stage is exciting to her. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute." My stomach is quicksand, and I feel myselfsinking into it. Every year I feel this, and every year I am deemed safe. But nonetheless, I still worry.

Effie reaches into the pool, and cheerfully reads out the name of the male tribute. My heart almost stops, as I hear Effie's voice read out my name. "Peeta Mellark." She says. So this is how the Peeta Mellark story ends, I think to myself. Because I know I will not survive the Hunger Games. This is end of my life.
A/N
Sorry for the really long chapter
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