Peeta's Story- The Hunger Games

Chapter 4

The sound of his scream still echoes in my ears as I run into the hallways. My mind is silently arguing with itself. Since when did I become so heroic? Or screwed up? He has stopped screaming, so I cannot tell where he is. I resort to frantically kicking doors open, until I come across a room where everything is strewn across the floor. A man is lying on the bed, unmoving.

I rush over to his side, my heart beating fast as if I've just been in a fight, and shake him. “Please be alive! Please be alive!” I whisper to myself.

He turns over and I breathe a sigh of relief. Apart from a rapidly swelling bump on his head, he seems to be okay. He is unkempt and his appearance reflects the state of his room- messy. With a ruddy face, shaggy beard, and stained clothes, he looks like the stereotypical drunk. I recognize him now; he is Haymitch Abernathy, the only living victor from District 12. I can't help but look at him contemptuously as he slobbers all over me. Then I remember everything that he's had to go through, and I decide that it's not his fault he's such a mess. I still wish he was a little more sober though. After all, he is the only mentor I'm going to get.

He groans and attempts to shake me off. “I'm armed!” He grunts.

I laugh and say, “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm Peeta Mellark, one of the tributes.”

He surveys me with watery eyes, then turns around with a huff and plops down on his bed. “Good. Night,” he says, and turns off the light.

Alright then. That wasn't weird at all. I walk back towards the dining room, thankful that he isn't hurt. I still can't get why I tried to play the hero though. This Hunger Games thing is really changing me.

Back in the room, everything is silent. There is food on the plates now, and it all looks so mouthwatering, with steam wafting up in spirals. It smells so good, like the feast we get only once a year. In the golden goblets, there is a rich brown liquid with a smell so appetizing I want to drink it right away. However, I restrain myself and wait for the others to arrive, staring back around the room.

After what seems like decades of mouth-watering torture, I finally hear footsteps and Effie's characteristic voice. She sounds so giddy that I wonder if she is drunk. She stomps into the room, with Katniss following quietly behind.

Even now, Katniss still looks suspicious, as she glares around the room. I stand up and smile at her, and see a flicker of something cross her face. She smiles at me, with an unreadable expression in her eyes and sits down.

I waver by my seat, wondering if I should talk to her or not. Finally I make up my mind and scoot closer to her. She looks at me suspiciously, then looks down at her plate.

I stretch out my hand and say, “I'm Peeta.”

Cautiously, she extends her hand and says, “Katniss,” shaking my hand jerkily.

We both avert our eyes and settle into an awkward silence, which is fortunately broken by Effie. “Dinner Time!” she announces, clapping her hands like a little child. I look at her pink curls bouncing up and down and wonder how oblivious and sheltered she is.

The dinner is absolutely delicious, and I am so full by the end of it, I feel lazily content. Effie walks us into another room, where we plop down on the sofa in front of the TV. I already know what we are about to watch when the TV turns on- a rerun of the reapings. Ours will be shown last.

We watch silently as we see who our opponents are for the first time. So many of them are big and opposing, and others look so sly and tricky. I wonder how I will ever help Katniss get out of this alive.

Katniss. She is sitting so close to me, I can feel our knees touching, and I try to ignore the electricity I feel radiating from her. Still, it's so hard, and I finally give in and look at her. Her jaw is set, and there is a steely glint in her eyes as she watches the screen. The intense look never leaves her face, and I wonder what she is thinking. She looks so beautiful like this, like a courageous warrior preparing for battle. She almost reminds me of those Greek and Roman statues we studied on History Class. I can't help thinking that she looks like a goddess. If she feels my gaze on her, she shows no sign of it, and continues watching the reapings with indifference.

I turn my attention back to the screen as the announcer says “District 12!” in a silly Capitol accent. First, it shows Prim being drawn, and Katniss striding up to take her place, desperation written all over her features. The camera then shifts over to her shaking sister and mother, hugging each other and crying. I look back over at Katniss, but she shows no emotion and just clenches her jaw tighter. I know what is coming up next- my reaping. Effie pulls out my name, and then the camera pans over to my shocked face, giving this an almost comical effect. Of course, no one hops onstage to take my place as I stand there shivering. I can't help but notice that I look so much more scared than Katniss and internally slap myself for not showing more courage. Then the camera finds my parents. My dad is dragging my hysterical mom away from the crowd, tears streaming down her face. I cannot believe it. I have never seen my mom lose control like this, not even when she said goodbye to me in the Justice Building.

Effie switches the TV off and looks at us, saying “Now off you go!” in a cheerful voice that pierces my mind.

I walk off blankly, forgetting to say goodbye to everyone. My mom's horrified face is still frozen in my mind as I push open the door to my room and open the locket she gave me. I feel on the verge of crying, so I crumple on my bed, the stench of the roses filling my nose, mingling strangely with the smell of wine. I hate the Capitol for doing this to me.

--

Edited by Izzy :)