The Hunger Games ~ Peeta's POV

Chapter 1

Ch. 1

****Hey, guys. I know this will probably be bad, but work with me. Just tell me if you don't like it, and I'll stop, okay? Thanks!

~swangirl98***

I am running. Running. Running. It's all that I know, and all that I will know. A small child chases me, but that is not why I run. It's the dagger. The dagger she holds so tightly in her fingers, poised to strike. To strike me.

Her eyes are red, blood thirsty, as she quickens her pace. And I can't go any faster. In fact, I stop suddenly, but not involuntarily. Dispite the fact that she wants to kill me, I can't hate her, not at all. Because it's Katniss.

Blinding sunlight is the last thing I see before she raises the dagger to end my life.

I sit up in my bed, my hand stuffed into my mouth to keep me from screaming for my father, like I used to when I was five. I tiptoe my way to the window to see how early it is, and if I should go back to bed. By the looks of the sun and the little half moon, still lingering in the morning sky, it's about six. Not too early, but early enough to make me want to go crawl back in to the warmth of my bed. Yeah, right. Like I could go back to sleep after a dream like that. And on a day like today.

I yawn and crack my knuckles to give my hands something to do as I make my way over to the kitchen. The shop doesn't open until eight, so I don't bother to get dressed. I have about seven hours to kill before the reaping begins, so I go ahead and get started on the breads and the cakes, the cakes especially. Some of the wealthier people of district twelve liked to come into the shop before the reaping to purchase cakes and goodies for their families to celebrate the news that their kids weren't condemned to certain death, as lovely as that sounds. But I mostly start on the cakes because they're fun to frost. I could put whatever designs on them I want, but for the reaping, I mostly used cooler colors with a splash of bright.

I get so lost in my work that I jump when dad clunks down the stairs in his old wooden shoes that made blisters on his feet. I tried to buy him new ones time and time again, but he said that he was fine.

"Morning, son!" He exclaims as cheerfully as he could muster up on reaping day. He takes one glance at the eight cakes I had manage to finish in an hour and a half, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Someone was up early, weren't they? But don't you think we need to get a head start on the bread and pastries, too?" I nod. Clearly I had forgotten about them.

I am rudely knocked out of my reverie by mom stomping down the stairs, angrily. "Peeta!!!" She screeches. "If you are not dressed by now, I swear...." I scramble out of the room, but not fast enough to escape the beady eyes of the hawk, scaling my pajamas up and down.

"I'll go get dressed, Mom, promise," I call out to her as I look to my dad for help, but he had already left the room. I don't blame him. I race up the stairs to my small little room that resembles a closet and put on the first thing I touch, a plain shirt and some jeans. I would put on something nicer for the reaping later.

I hear the little chime of our tattered, old clock, and I know that the shop has opened. I try to take the stairs two steps at a time, but my foot misses the step and I tumble down the staircase, landing in a heap at the bottom. Sadly, I did not inherit my father's grace and agility. I recognize the unpleasant sound of mother getting closer and I see the bottom of her heels clicking against the cement floor of the shop. I scurry past her like a little mouse into the kitchen, which smells of bread.

"Peeta, you worthless boy!" She yells at me from the stairs, and I cringe. "I'd almost be happy if you got picked for the reaping!" continues the which. Ouch, would you like some ice for that burn? 'Cause that hurt. Bad.

I grab my smock and get to work on the bread and pastries some more until the customers start pouring in by the bucket load. Dad gets cooking, and I tend to the customers every whim. Yup, that's the way it is every year.

I am snapped out of my trance by the gong of a bell in the distance. It feels like an omen. Time for the reaping already? Ugh. Time seems to fly when you're dreading something. I don't really have anything to fear when it comes to the reaping of me, because I don't have very many tesseraes, considering I'm the baker's son. Besides, if I get drawn, I guess I'd rather me get doomed than some other poor kid. But when it came down to it, what I feared most was Katniss's name being picked; that was something I knew I couldn't live through, because she, the love of my life, would surely die.

Dad softly tells me to go change clothes, and I do. I don't have very many nice clothes, so I just fish around my closet until I find something decent. Enough.

We all walk the short distance to the square, and I duck under the felt rope sectioning off the sixteen year olds. I stand next to a kid from school who's name I don't remember. He's biting his nails so furiously that I grab his shoulder and tell him that he's going to make himself bleed. He pays me no mind.

I glance around the square, looking for a familiar face when I spot Katniss, her long, dark braid cascading down her back, dropping her little sister, Primrose, off with the twelve year olds. Prim's lips are trembling, and Katniss whispers something reassuring into her ear and heads off into the sixteen year old group, but were on opposite sides of the section.

Just as the clock gongs 2, Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and, like every year, I tune him out, annoyed. He gives his speech that makes everyone fall asleep figuratively, telling us all about the history of Panem and all of that crap. I notice the kid next to me that kept biteing his nails has stoped to mimic the Mayor's speech in a high nasal voice and I snicker profusly, and he grins. I could have almost swore that I saw Mayor Undersee give me a look.

After he read the so-called 'list' of victors in District 12, only 2, a drunken man who I recognize to be Haymitch Abernathy staggers onto the stage yelling something, and I smirk. I feel bad for the kids who will get picked this year. The crowd whoops and cheers, but he's too confused to understand. Haymitch tries to give Effie Trinket what looks like a hug, and she pushes him off of her, but barely. The mayor looks nervous, probably because Haymitch is embarassing District 12 in front of all of Panem.

With a spacey look in her eyes, Effie tiptoes over to the podium and gives her signature greeting. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She gushes a little about how happy she is to be here, although nobody's fooled. "Ladies first!" She chimes with glee, reaches into the big, glass ball containing all of the girl's names, and fishes around in it a little.

"Primrose Everdeen!" She exclaims, and I lose all sanity as I realize who that is. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. Please don't let Katniss volunteer, I think. Please don't let Katniss volunteer. Prim flinches and stiffly walks towards the stage. "Wait!" I hear a small voice break through the crowd. "I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!" Katniss yells. Oh no.

I'm too lost in my mind to hear Effie and the Mayor having some sort of conflict on volunteering, and Katniss's introducing herself. Yes, Effie, the odd's are in my favor today. I get to watch the love of my life get slaughtered on television.

Katniss looks brave and fearless, but I can't even contemplate what's going on inside of her right now. Haymitch sags his way across the stage and throws his arm around her shoulders, and I can't help wanting to tell him to get his paws off of her. "I like her!" He says, his word slurred. "Lots of... Spunk! More than you!" He lets go of her and heads for the front of the stage. He points directly to the cameras now. "More than you!" Haymitch was going to continue, but he tumbles off the stage and knocks himself out. A stretcher takes him away.

"What an exciting day!" Effie trills with much enthusiasm. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!" She steps off the podium and grabs the name in the very top of the boy's bowl. She says someone's name, and everyone stares at me. She repeats my name, and I blanch as I make my way to the stage, ringing in my ears. I try to keep my face straight, like Katniss did, but my eyes fill with tears that threaten to escape if I let them.

Strangely enough, my climb up the stairs to the stage is steady, even though I feel like jelly inside. The mayor finishes the treaty of treason and tells us to shake hands. Katniss's hands are cold and delicate. I muster up the courage to look her right in the eyes and I give her hand a squeeze.

Yes, Effie, the odds are totally in my favor. Great.