I know this is kind of short for my very first Hunger Games fanfiction, but I just wanted to record what I felt like Peeta was feeling in the days leading up to the Hunger Games, during the first book and movie. Maybe later, I can do continuations, that take place during the rest of the series, and show how he progressed.

Boy on Fire

In the days leading up to the 74th annual Hunger Games, Peeta Malark was scared. He didn't say it out loud, but the fear was there, deep inside him, gnawing at his heart, and soul, and mind.

Because he knew, the same way Haymitch knew. If anybody was coming out of there alive, it wasn't going to be him. It was going to be Katniss. The girl the capitol was calling, "The Girl on Fire."

He too, had come out onto the stage, hand in hand with Katniss, riding that chariot. He had burned just as brightly, just as fiercely. But he'd seen, even then, that they weren't looking at him. The giant screen showed only Katniss' face, because she had burned before she'd even got here. She'd made her impression by volunteering. Nobody saw him.

Nobody was rooting for him.

Not the capitol.

Or the sponsors.

Or Haymitch.

Or Cinna.

Not even...his mother.

Maybe district twelve will finally have a winner this year.

But she hadn't been talking about him.

Nobody was calling him, "The Boy on Fire."

He was going to die. And they all knew it. He knew it too. He'd been counted out before the battle had even begun, and they were right to do it. He'd probably be dead within minutes.

So he was scared. Every day, every minute, every second, he was closer to his death. He didn't want to die. He wanted to go home, to District 12, as terrible as it may have been. It was nothing compared to this. He had been so close to freedom. He was almost old enough to be safe.

May the odds be ever in your favor, huh?

If the odds had been in his favor, he wouldn't be here.

His nights were filled with nightmares about how he would die. Sometimes, it was quick, sometimes it seemed to drag on all night, and an eternity. Sometimes, it was painless, but most of the time, he felt every moment of it.

Nobody believed he would win.

Least of all, himself.

He had nothing going for him. He was not fast, or tactical, or a weapons master. He hadn't spent years training for this day, ready to be a ruthless killer.

He was just Peeta Malark, baker.

He was not The Boy on Fire.