Peeta's POV: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It's early morning. Somewhere between the hours of 5 and 6am. I'm laying awake in bed and I can smell the fresh aroma of bread cooking in the oven downstairs. I can tell by the smell that there's several batches. Today's the worst day for everyone in all the districts. The one day of the year that everyone dreads—the day of the reaping. You would think that I was going to sleep in like the rest of the merchant homes on a day like this, but I've never really connected with the rest of them. Even though my dad's a baker, we always get the stale bread, leftovers and overcooked portions. All the best bread has to be sold to the wealthy people and merchants to put food on the table.

Food. At least I have that. There are people who live in district 12 that don't even have that. Most of those people are the ones who live in the seam. Those families, those kids—they’re the ones who starve to death. They're the ones who have to put their names in the drawing multiple times to receive extra portions of food throughout the year. It's called tesserae—all you have to do is put your name more times into the reaping and you'll get a chance to live, a chance to not starve. I used to complain about the burnt bread—all of us did. But I stopped. I stopped because of a girl who lives in the seam. Her name is Katniss Everdeen. She's the first person who made me realize what real hunger looked like. As soon as I realized what it meant—I hated it and hated the people who made us this way. But what could I do? Any sign of rebellion from anyone in the districts is an act of treason and the punishable by death. Most of the people in the merchant class just accept the way things are. They don't question things and they sometimes look down on those people from the seam—a soft knock taps our back door and interrupts my thoughts.

It's Gale. I knew he was coming. He and my dad usually trade squirrel for bread, but every day on this day my dad seems to make a little extra bread for everyone. My window just happens to be over the back door of our shop. I always crack it a little just in case Gale or Katniss decide to drop by. I envy him. He's always with Katniss. I never see them together in school, only when they bring kill to our house. He's older than Katniss and I—we're actually in the same year at school. The same year, but yet I'm too much of a coward to speak to her.
“I set up snares for them last night,” Gale says to my dad.

“Do you mind skinning the squirrels so I can cook them this morning before my wife wakes up?” my dad asks with no tone in his voice. He barely ever has voice inflection, except when he's teaching us boys something or when he talks about Katniss's mom.

I hear Gale pull his knife out and skin the squirrel. Steal against flesh. Blood touching the knife. My stomach queezes at the thought of if. I don't know if I could ever be a hunter. I hate having to take another life. It makes me sick to my stomach. After watching all the games that I have you would think it wouldn't bother me to kill something, but it does. It bothers me so much that I had to do something about it. My father can't stand skinning animals and hated doing it until one day I volunteered to do it. I was 12. It was the morning of the reaping. He told me that it wasn't my job and as much as he hated it, he was going to do it himself. But I insisted. I told him if my name gets picked I have to get used to seeing blood. He looked at me like I was crazy, but then his face changed. He looked sad, and then his expression changed to understanding. With the knife in his hand and squirrel in the other, he looked me in the eye with a stange look, handed me both and walked away. I now know it was fear. I don't know if it was fear that I might get picked, that I might die, or that I wanted to know what it's like to handle blood and meat. Honestly it was probably an accumulation of all of it, but I never asked. There are some things that you just have to let alone and I knew that was one of them.

I look down and realize that Gale is walking off with the bread in his bag. Great. I was so lost in thought I missed his conversation with my dad. He probably didn't say anything about Katniss anyways. He rarely does, and if he does—it's usuaslly only to say that it was her arrow that got the kill through the eye. She's such a great hunter. She always pierces the animals through the eyes so as not to harm the meat on the body. No one likes meat that's been shot through with an arrow. People like cutting up their own meat, especially those people in the better parts of the district.

I decide to get up even though my father had Gale skin the squirrel. I don't know why he did that when he knows that's my job now. My brown boots are sitting next to my closet. They're nothing like coal miners boots. My boots are the boots of a merchant. A baker's son's boots. I bet Gale hates me. He probably loathes the fact that I don't have to work in the mines. At least that's one thing I have that he doesn't. Maybe when we turn 19, Katniss will see me as more of a suiter than Gale. She would never have to worry about me working in the mines like Gale. I would never die if something went wrong. I wouldn't die like her father did. How can I even think such a thing? Well it's not like I haven't thought about it before. I don't stand a chance against Gale. I've overheard guys being jealous of him, even my own brother. All the girls want him. Yeah I'll admit it—he's a good looking dude. He's athletic, smart, can hunt, and gets to spend hours in the woods with Katniss. Who wouldn't be jealous of him? He's got a different girl every couple months, except in the last year or so. I don't know what changed—except he's probably dating Katniss. I wouldn't know though because neither of them talk much to anyone but themselves. Who knows, maybe the way they are at school is similar to the way they are with each other? Dammit. That's why I don't think about them and that's exactly why I haven't managed the smallest bit of courage to go up to Katniss and talk to her. She's got Gale. Why on earth would she ever want me?

I decide not to put my boots on so as not to make noise and wake my mother. She would probably not talk to my dad for a week and kick or hit me for trading with Gale. It's forbidden to hunt in any of the districts and we're supposed to turn in anyone who does. But Katniss and Gale provide a luxury in our district that no one dares get rid of. It's hard to come by fresh meat and no one wants to lose that privilege. The first time I ever had the thought that Gale and Katniss could get in trouble for doing this--a thought crossed my mind—I could turn Gale in. It was another horrible thought. I only thought it for a second because of my jealousy, but I would never do such a thing. As much as I didn't like Gale for always being with Katniss, I would never wish anything like that on him or his family. They've been through enough. Gale lost his father in the same mine accident that Katniss lost her father in. Gale was left to take care of his family. His mother was pregnant and she had 3 other kids besides him. He's all they had left. And that's just one more reason why they're perfect for each other. I don't even know why I bother thinking about her. All I know is that I can't stop. I've tried. I've tried looking at other girls and imagining a life with them, but for some reason all I can see is Katniss.

I'm downstairs now and ready to interrogate my father on why he had Gale skin the squirrel and not me even though I get queezy every time I do it. I smell the meat cooking and my mouth starts salivating. I turn the corner and see my dad over the stove cooking the squirrel. I'm about to reprimend him and—

“I know you like skinning the squirrels Peeta and I know you're preparing yourself to be picked in the hunger games, but just once can you just let me enjoy you as my son. Not my son who skins meat so he knows what it's like to have blood on his hand. Not my son who has to put his name in a glass bowl to get picked to kill another child. Just Peeta. Peeta Mellark, the son of a baker,” my dad says to me, his back still turned to me as he cooks the meat.

I can tell that the meats almost done. The smell is undeniable, but that's not what has my tongue. My dad never talks to me about the hunger games. Never. It's sort of an unspoken thing in our house until after the day of reaping. And even after that my dad doesn't really talk about it. My mother on the other hand always makes comments. Saying we'll never have another winner in our district thanks to that drunken slob who won the second quarter quell. The quarter quell is a special event where the Gamemakers do something crazy like double the amount of people who have to go into the games. That's what happened last time when Haymitch won. I only know the story because he's the last person who won in our district. Ever since he's been a drunk. My mother's the one who pushed my brother(s) and I into wrestling. She wanted us to be prepared for the games in case we got picked. Always saying if the Careers can do it so can we. I never usually agree with my mother, but this was actually one area that I did. The Careers train themselves to be killing machines for the games. They usually team up with each other until it's just them left in the game and then they turn on each other. Every boy/girl for themselves. It makes sense though. I might as well be prepared to fight just like the Careers so I can hold my own in case I get picked.

I'm still staring at my father's back when he turns around. He's already cut the meat up into 3 pieces. One for me, my brother and him. He picks the meat up with a fork and puts it on a paper plate in front of me. I was so mad at the fact that he didn't let me skin the squirrel and then stunned by his comment that I didn't even realize he set the table. He put out a paper plate, a fork, and a knife for the three of us to eat together. I hear soft footsteps on the stairs and I know it's my brother Jake. He sees the meat on his plate and looks as shocked as I do. We don't usually eat our meat on a paper plate or with forks and knives—that's all saved for special dinners. We usually just eat the meat with our hands. It saves us from going through the trouble of putting utensils out, but also from hiding the fact that we eat meat from Gale & Katniss from our mother. Jake looks at me with a face of understanding and I look back at him with confusion. He goes to pick up his fork and knife and we're both about to dig in and—

“I thought we could eat like normal human beings for once,” dad says in that same monotone voice as he picks up his fork and knife.

He proceeds to cut his meat up and eat it in small pieces. Jake and I don't respond and follow suit, cutting what little meat there is into small pieces and eating it. It was different. Instead of eating it as fast as I can, I chewed each piece really tasting the meat as I ate it. I guess being civilized once in a while wasn't a bad thing. My dad finishes first and he gets up and starts cleaning up the table. When he's done he looks at both of us and says, “Now you two better go back to bed and get some rest. There's a big day ahead of us.”

He turns and continues to prepare bread. Usually my brother and I help my father in the morning to make bread but I guess today's different. I'm about to get up and go help my dad anyways, but my brother grabs my arm and shakes his head. He puts his lips by my ears and whispers, “Just go back to bed.” And then before I can dispute him, he picks me up by the arm and is pushing me back up the stairs. Before I know it, I'm in our room and Jake's getting back into his bed. I'm sitting across the room from him on my bed, frustrated because I know I'm not going to go back to bed. Not on the day of reaping. Why is everyone acting so strange? All I want to do is bake some bread so I can get my mind off of what's to come.

“He doesn't want you to be baking bread on the day of reaping,” Jake says from under his covers. “Just in case it's you that gets picked. He wants you to spend your morning doing what you want to do.” He pauses, looks at me like he knows my retort and then says, “Not baking bread because baking bread isn't going to help you win the hunger games.”

It's like he was reading my mind. Well what if I want to bake bread on the day of reaping? I think to myself even though I want to scream it back at him. Emotions never help any situation. I know that because I see what it does to my mother when she gets into an argument with my dad. Just in case it's you that gets picked. I guess they all think I'm going to get picked today, but it's highly unlikely. Some people have their names entered in more than 30 times. Especially those with big families. Especially those from the seam. I'm only entered in once every year. My chance of getting picked is slim just like Jake. He was one of the lucky ones. One of those people who never got picked between his years of 12 to 18. He made it through seven years without ever being picked. Even though I feel like I'd be somewhat prepared for the hunger games I doubt I'll ever get picked. It's not that I want to go into the hunger games, I really honestly don't. I would hate being thrown into an arena with 23 other 12 – 18 year olds in a fight to the death. It's inhuman. It's disgusting. It's the Capitol. The Capitol is who makes us do this. It's the Capitol who finds it entertaining to watch as one boy and one girl from each district get picked every year just to kill each other. They've already taken food and freedom from us, why do this? Why make us do something that turns us into animals? I know why. We all know why. I guess that's why dad didn't want me to skin the squirrel and eat like a normal person. We can't let them take everything away from us. We have to stay human. We have to be ourselves. What was that that Jake said dad wanted? Dad wants me to spend my morning on what I want to do. Not skinning squirrels. Not baking bread. Not going to school to learn about mining. Not being forced to watch the TV as kids kill each other. What do I want to do? I actually enjoy making bread. It calms me and relaxes me. It helps me to forget about the miserable world we live in. I don't know if it's my favorite thing to do. What is my favorite thing to do?

After a moment, I realize I know exactly what I want to do. I get back up and go quietly downstairs to the pantry. I open the door and on the right bottom shelf I see it. Icing and food coloring. It's my favorite thing to do. I'm the best at it and that's the one thing my mother can't hit me for. If I mess up on icing something, I can usually hid it by making a different design, but most times I never mess up. It's become an art to me really. I don't know if people consider it an art or not but it's an art to me. My brothers always pick on me for it, but I begged them not to tell anyone. I don't want everyone to make fun of me for it. Actually all of district 12 probably thinks my mom decorates all the baked goods. She acts like she does, claiming that since I'm her child and she gave me birth anything I make is really something she's made because she brought me into this world. I don't mind though, I get plenty of attention when I want it.

The reaping isn't until 2pm so I have a good 7 hours of decorating to do. It's a good thing that reaping days are usually busy days for baked goods because 7 hours is a lot of work and a lot of frosted baked goods. All the families who don't have their child picked for the games celebrate afterwards. People usually like celebrating by getting baked goods. It's a huge treat for almost any family in district 12. But this reaping day was going to be even more special because usually people only ordered baked goods without icing. Icing makes the cost go up significantly. But since I'm spending the rest of my day icing all the baked goods, my mother’s not going to have a choice but to sell the baked goods at regular costs if she wants to sell anything. It's something I know I'm going to get a huge beating for.