The Hunger Games ~ Peeta's POV

Chapter 2

Ch. 2

A group of burley peacekeepers dressed in white matching outfits march us through the large front doors of the justice building. I'm led down a hallway, given a room, and left alone. I hate that word. I've never been more alone in my life.

The room is so luxurious that I'll bet the blue, velvet couch costs more than my father makes off the bakery in an entire year. I feel a pang of anger as I look around at all of these fancy attributes to the room. Carpet? Velvet? Gold embroidered curtains? Why do the people of the Capitol get all of this while the districts starve? I dig my nails into the leg of my pants, infuriated. Tiny blots of red begin to show through the fabric, but I don't care.

I don't look up as a peacekeeper opens the door and leads my father into the room. His lips are tightly pressed together and his eyes are closed. I know the truth is hard for him to accept. He swiftly takes a seat next to me on the couch. "Peeta..."

"I-" I begin, but I get too choked up to continue. Dad's eyes pop open and he grips my shoulders with his cracked hands.

"I love you, son," he simply states, and I lose it. Tears streak down my face, and my nose starts running. There will be cameras at the train station once the hour is up, so crying will leave me looking weak. But who cares? I'm going to die, anyways.

"I love you too, Dad," I say when I can speak again. "Michael and Jaordan aren't coming, are they?" My older brothers. I'm glad they're too old to volunteer.

"No. I wouldn't want you to remember them depressed this way. I'd rather you have happier memories than this." By remember, he means not having bad last memories of them. Last... As in the end is near. Great. Even my own father knows I won't survive. My heart sinks.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wooden cube, about the size of a thumb, with black dots carved into all six sides. "This is a dice. It was my grandfather's dice, and we would always play games with it. I remember playing with it as a boy. We would each roll it, and whoever had the lowest number of dots facing up owed the other a dime." He places the dice in my hands, and folds my fingers closed. "You win that game. You get that dime. Got it?"

A last tear trembles as it slides down my cheek. "Yes."

"Goodbye, Peeta," Dad whispers as he's ushered out of the room by a peacekeeper. I bury my head in my hands.

Next to enter the room is my mother, of all people. Unlike my calm and cool father, she is near hysteria.

"Peeta! I'm so sorry about what I told you this morning! Why you?" She wails pitifully, and then bursts into tears. I pat her back reassuringly. How could a witch suddenly go all milk and honey? Yes, the Hunger Games have a lasting affect on people.

As she weeps, I hear her mutter something so low it's almost unintelligible. "She's a survivor, that one." I know who she means. Katniss. Yes, she's probably right. She's forced to leave, still in sobs. Well, that leaves me another 15 minutes to think/cry my eyes out.

After Mom leaves, I think. About Katniss, and our survival. Tiny, frail Katniss will be fighting to keep her life, but she might not win. Not without help, anyways. I vow that I will do whatever it takes to save that girl from death. Even if it means looking death in the eye myself. I will not rest until she's safe. I smile, content with my plan.

I'm removed from the room and shoved into a car. I've never been in one because everyone in district 12 walks.

I step out as we arrive, and I'm lost in the blinding flashes of all of the cameras trying to get a shot of me. It kind of reminds me of a swarm of bees, trying to get to Katniss and I.

Katniss. Her car drives up, and her face is clean of any emotion, whatsoever. I had forgotten to watch my facial expressions, so I probably look like a timid child who lost his blankie in all of the chaos. Puffy eyes, runny nose. Like I care. As I said before, I'm going to die, anyways.

I fight and elbow my way through the bustle of cameramen to get to the train. The moment I see it, my jaw drops. It's a Capitol train, so of course it has to be breathtaking, but this was one that probably averages a speed of 250, 275 mph. We'll be at the Capitol in less than a day.

Suprisingly, the tribute train is even more luxurious than the justice building. Wer'e each given our own room, and the rooms are huge, perhaps bigger than the entire bakery itself. There is a big panel on the wall with buttons- too many to test. The bed is king sized with a blue silk bedspread, a couch, and a shelf choc full of books. I even have my own bathroom- at home, we all shared one. I feel like a princess. Ew. Talk about deprivation of my manliness.

Effie says I can do anything and wear anything, because everything is at my disposal. Just to meet them in the dining room in an hour for dinner. I just finish the first book of Narnia by C.S. Lewis when Effie knocks on my door.

"Dinner!" She says in her shrill voice and leads me down a narrow corridor to the dining room. The table is set with what I can only guess is china because it looks breakable. I take my seat and Effie goes to gather Katniss. I pull out the chair next to me for Katniss.

Effie returns with Katniss trailing behind her. A small, gold pin is attached to Katniss's dark green shirt; she changed clothes. I frown. I liked the blue dress she was wearing earlier today. The Capitol's clothing did her no justice.

"Where's Haymitch?" Bubbles Effie.

"Last I saw him, he was going to take a nap," I recalled casually.

"Well, it's been an exausting day," Effie sighs, as if content with Haymitch's absence. Who could blame her?

The Capitol's food is so fine, so rich I can't help stuffing it all down my throat. But sometime during the meal, I notice that eating too much one thing gets a bit boring, so I only take a bite of each dish, destined to try them all. Katniss was taking advantage of the food, too, cramming it into her meager stomach. I was a little shocked she didn't try not to look like a hog; she ate as much as humanly possible, the opposite of a normal lady like person. But, of course, Katniss wasn't like anyone else I knew, so who was I to judge?

By the end of the meal, I feel like throwing up, and a slight sheen of sweat has set across my face, making me clammy. Katniss isn't looking so good herself, either. Our stomachs aren't used to such rich fare.

Effie takes us to a different room to watch the reapings. I don't really pay much attention, though. I would see the tributes later, anyways- when they're trying to slit my throat. Mostly I watch Katniss. Her face twists into an expression of sadness as they show a small twelve year old named Rue get called up for district 11. She's tiny, small enough to even resemble Prim, but only in stature and innocence. The look in Katniss's eyes suggest that she's thinking the same thing as me.

At last, they show district 12. They show Prim's name being drawn. Katniss's desperation to take her place, protect her. Haymitch falling off the stage, drunk. My name being drawn. Me, on stage, shaking hands with Katniss. The anthem plays out of the speakers and the Capitol seal is displayed on the screen, signaling that the program is over.

Effie makes a face, probably thinking about how messed up her wig was. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior." She was referring to when Haymitch comically fell off the stage. I laugh involuntarily.

"He was drunk," I comment. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," Katniss adds, smirking a little. Effie gives us a cold, snakelike glare.

"Yes," Effie snarls. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch could very well be the very difference between your life and death!"

Haymitch staggers into the compartment, obviously drunk. "I miss supper?" He says, his words slurred and jumbled together. Then he throws up all over the pricey rug and topples over into it.

"So laugh away!" Effie hisses, and frolics around the mess to flee the room.