The Hunger Games, in Peeta's Point of View.

None of the Characters or events are owned by me, I can only lay claim to how I imagine Peeta's thoughts and some actions may be.

Chapter One.

I awake at the same time I do every other day, already dressed and down in the bakery with my father; my mother and my brothers are still asleep, as we always let them sleep in on Reaping Day. The words echo around my head whilst I hoist a large sack of flour over my shoulder from near the door, carrying it across to the storage room. I repeat the process with the other two sacks that had been delivered; I've been lifting them nearly daily for years now and the job has become pretty easy. At first it had taken me a half hour because I often had to drag them across the room, with my brothers watching and laughing at my feeble attempts to lift the sacks. The memory causes me to chuckle, my father looking at me curiously.

I don't have to explain myself because it is then that there's a light knock on the back door, and we both knew exactly who is standing on the other side. Gale. I feel a small drop in the pit of my stomach, tinged with a sprinkle of jealousy. He will most likely be on his way to the forest at this time, and she shall be there waiting for him. I try to divert my attention by taking up my icing pipe, squeezing out the first colour onto the set of cupcakes. I lose myself in my decorating, and don't even notice the conversation between my father and Gale, or when he leaves. It's only after I've put everything down to admire my work that I realise I've created a dozen Katniss plants in cupcake form.

I clench my jaw and pick up all the icing tools I'd used with stiff limbs, taking them over to the wash sink and dumping them in the warm water. I start scrubbing the excesses of icing.

"Peeta... Peeta!" My father's hands close over mine, breaking me from my reverie. I blink and look at him with what I expect is quite a blank expression.

"Sorry, what? Did you say something?"

"I said calm down. You're getting water everywhere," he gives me a puzzled expression before smiling with a seemingly knowing expression. "Nice icing by the way, as usual."

It's not long before we have to wake the rest of the family, and I have to have a bath. We must always to look our best on Reaping Day, want to give the Capitol a good show. I pull on a shirt that one of my brothers had once owned and handed down when they'd outgrown it. We may not live in the Seam, but we still aren't rich.

Walking to the square feels a lot like cattle being herded to the slaughterhouse – there are no smiles or joyful expressions. Some might be grateful for the day off, but most are worried. Considering the possibility that their child, brother, sister or their own name could be plucked from one of those large bowls by Effie Trinket's perfectly manicured fingers. The same worry is flitting around my own mind, trying to imagine what might happen if my brother Gareth's name is picked out, or even mine. Everybody has to sign in when we reach the Square, so that the Peacekeepers can check anybody who doesn't turn up. All those eligible to be picked as a tribute are separated by their age groups, standing solemnly and staring at the stage in wait; all those who aren't eligible are lined up around the perimeter. It is common knowledge that those with no family members left often gamble and take bets on the tributes who might be picked.

The clock strikes two and all those small mutterings and little conversations that had been going on as we waited suddenly cease. The mayor takes his place at the podium. Once again we hear the same story that we do every year, about the beginning of Panem and the events that led up to the Hunger Games. I tune out the long speech that I had stopped listening to years ago, instead turning my thoughts to what I would ice on to the celebration cakes after the Reaping. I start concentrating again when our only living victor stumbles onto the stage with what is probably a string of profanities rolling off his tongue, although none of us can make out what he is actually saying. The whole event is being filmed for the Capitol and the mayor looks completely stricken. I fight the smile from my lips.

Trying to take control of the situation, Effie Trinket bounds up to the podium in her usual out of place happy manner. I don't pay attention to any of what she says until she's turning to the first bowl of names, where all of the eligible females have one or more slips with their name written out on it. I can't help but think of one name in that bowl, one that I have a strong feeling is in there multiple times, as Katniss Everdeen has been looking after her family for years now. Ever since her father died, she has taken head role of the Everdeen family and is well known around District 12 for her strong will, her hard headed-ness, and her refusal to show emotion to the rest of us. I pray her name isn't going to be drawn from that bowl because this year is most definitely the year I shall pluck up the courage and finally talk to her.

"Primrose Everdeen!" It's not her. It's not her. I let out a small breath of relief, but it isn't long lasted.

"Prim! Prim!" Her name is an echo across the square, and we all move aside so that she can run forward to her sister. The whole of District 12 and probably the Capitol have their eyes on Katniss as she grabs hold of her younger sister and shields her, making sure she cannot get up to the stage. "I volunteer!" She shouts, "I volunteer as tribute!" Nobody is entirely sure how to react to the outburst. My heart sinks and there's a deep drop in my stomach and catch in my throat as I realise what has just happened. I watch as she stiffly walks up to the stage to where Effie Trinket is grinning in delight, no doubt at all the excitement of this Reaping Day. Katniss' sister is screaming out for her, but Gale steps up and hoists her easily over his shoulder, reminding me of the sacks of flour I lift daily.

Effie is asking for Katniss' name and expecting applause from the crowd watching, but there is none; we all stand there unmoved. What happens next is unexpected and I don't think anybody is sure how it started, but we are all raising the middle three fingers of our left hand to our lips and holding them out the stage, to Katniss. Then Haymitch is stumbling up to Katniss and slurring his words, turning his attention either upon the crowd or the cameras that are filming the entire show, whatever effect he might have had is ruined when he falls off the stage into unconsciousness. There isn't much more time to react and collect my thoughts before those stupidly manicured fingers are plucking a second slip of paper to read out.

"Peeta Mellark." The name hangs in the air and it takes me a moment before I'm shocked into movement. That's me! My name, that was my name taken from the bowl. There's a hand on my back, subtly pushing me forward towards the stage. My limbs don't seem to want to move, but I force my legs to take a step, one after the other towards the stage. I try to drain the emotion from my face, but I'm so shocked I'm certain some of it shows on my face. At least it's only shock, and not fear. I'm on the stage beside Effie and she's asking for volunteers, but there's only silence from the crowd. I wouldn't have expected anything different; what Katniss had done for her younger sister was an extremity in our Disctrict, but is Katniss all over.

Once the mayor has finished his speech about the Treaty of Treason we are made to shake hands, and once her warm hand is enclosed in mine I can't help but squeeze it a little in what I hope conveys as reassurance. She's looking straight at me with her grey eyes that are normally closed off, but I see a flicker of emotion in them, perhaps fear or confusion. In that moment a memory flashes across my mind, of a young, sick girl crying behind a pig pen; of burnt bread being tossed through the air.

The anthem brings me back to the present and I realise I've been holding on to her hand a fraction too long, I let go suddenly as if the flesh had burnt mine own. Once the anthem is finished there are suddenly Peacekeepers surrounding us, escorting us to the Justice Building.

It is time to say our goodbyes.