The Hunger Games: The Untold Story of Peeta Mellark PART ONE

chapter seven

Peeta Mellark PART TWO

            Next thing I know I’m hauled off to the Justice Building and ushered into a small lavishly decorated room. I’m seated onto a velvety purple couch and left alone to await my goodbyes. I take the time to look around for a minute until my family and friends come in. It’s extraordinary with it’s colorful antique lamps, thick, deep carpets, clear painted walls, portraits, and numerous pieces of artwork, or at least it would be, if it weren’t just a fancy jail cell. This must be what the capital’s like. I can only imagine how this place must look to Katniss whose been living in a shack for her whole life. It’s almost infuriating when you realize that all the money that went into decorating this place could feed the entire population district twelve for at least two weeks. And what purpose does it even serve? It feels like a prison, the first stop on the journey to my inevitable death. A complete waste of time and money.

 It is not really my place to complain about how poverty-stricken district 12 is, considering the fact that my family is actually deemed very well off compared to the rest of the district. But everyday, I see people from the Seam on the streets dying of starvation, peacekeepers picking up the dead bodies as one would pick up trash. Just because I’m not starving doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to what goes on. And the truth of the matter is, my family is probably not as well off as people might assume that we’d be since my father is a baker. We never actually get to eat the good stuff; we survive mainly on the leftovers. Nevertheless, I’m very thankful to at least have food, even if it’s stale. It is quite difficult, I must admit, to stare at the freshly baked bread, feel the warmth from the oven radiate off your skin, and have to resist eating it until the end of the day, once it’s stale and cold.

My family walks into the room along with Jackson, Attalla, and a few other friends from school. My mother’s hysterical. Despite how terrible she is to my brothers and me, the sight of this breaks my heart. She was driven mad by her loss of Rye, and now she’s about to lose me as well. Forced to sacrifice me for of the purposes of the capital’s entertainment. What will this do to her? I know that she loves me even though she has a very… unconventional way of showing it. I run up and hug her. She pulls me in tight and I feel her tears seeping into my shirt; I pat her back reassuringly as tears start to fog my vision, I blink and they come rolling down my cheek. She pulls away and says hoarsely, in a somewhat cheerful voice, “Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner.” Then under her breath, almost as an after thought, I hear her mutter, “She’s a survivor, that one.” And then I know she isn’t talking about me, she’s talking about Katniss.

Before I can react, Barley rushes up to me, he’d been crying to. “Maybe you can win little man!” He says punching me on the shoulder playfully. An uneasy laugh escapes from my throat “Don’t count on it Bar, you’d have a much better shot at this than I do.” He looks me directly in the eye, his are all swollen, “Listen to me man, your strong, you’re a hell-of-a wrestler, and you’re the smartest out of any of us, the only thing you don’t have is confidence. You think you have no chance but you do!” Tears start flooding from his eyes “I can’t lose my little brother! Not like this. So promise me you’ll at least try, okay?” He pulls me in tightly. “Barley” I can barely make out. “Barley these games, they change you, even if I do win… I won’t be the same, I don’t, I can’t-“ He cut’s me off mid-sentence “They won’t Peeta, not to you, you’re not Haymitch Abernathy, your stronger then him, you can survive this.” I just nod, there’s no use fighting him on this, but no one is immune to the games.

Next, I say goodbye to Strucla. He’s not as emotional as Barley. Instead of crying, his face just turns to stone. Suddenly, his solid expression breaks into something of a smile for what only lasts a brief second. As he says, playfully, “When you’re back, get ready for me to kick your ass in the wrestling competition again!” At once, I realize how hard this is for Strucla. We’ve never been close; in fact we barely even speak. Nevertheless, We’re still brothers, and in the end that’s all that matters. “You’re on!” I say. We smile at each other.

Next thing I know Attalla jumps onto me. She’s hysterical. Her whole face is swollen and soaked with tears, her eyes are red and puffy. Then Jackson comes and joins in on the hug. We’ve all been best friends since we were toddlers. Attalla’s father is the Butcher and Jackson’s mother and father own district twelve’s main tailoring shop. Attalla tries to speak but chokes on her tears. “Come home Peeta.” Jackson says. Attalla kisses me on the cheek and they’re forced out of the room.

Now it’s just my father and me. We have barely a minute left. He hands me a very old, withered, greenish coin. I don’t recognize it. It’s engraved with the profile of a woman with long flowing hair. On the top I can make out the word Liberty. “It’s been in our family for centuries. It can be your token” He reads the confusion on my face and explains further, “It used to symbolize freedom. You can never forget who you are. They will never own you, not as long as you hold onto your freedom.” I place the coin on my palm; it’s rough and decayed at the surface, light, yet incredibly heavy in my hand. “I can’t let the capital see this.” I say, tucking it into my pocket. There’s a knock on the door, peacekeepers enter and tell me that my time is up. I hug my father, he smells like bakery cookies, I look down and realize he is holding a bag of them. “Are those for me?” “Um, no they’re for-“ he’s forced out by the peacekeepers before he can finish his sentence. And I’m left alone.