Hi everyone! Long time no see!

So anyways, I was rereading this story and realized it sucked. I hated the style of writing in it. So i decided i was going to rewrite it all :D I am not giving up on the Boy with The What but this has been bugging me. This isn't a main priority though, so it might take sometime, ok? Thanks again!

And I now present the New and IMPROVED!

THE BOY WITH THE BREAD!

Five more minutes, I decided as I closed the oven door.

Mom stood over near the sink, whistling quietly. She stared out the window as she washed the dishes and then leaned forward as if getting a better look at something. The whistling stopped.

I walked over and under Mom's arm to get a look. At first I only saw the pigs, but I hear a clang of metal and look at the trash cans.

She must have been from the seam, no merchant looked like that. Her frame was to thin and she looked to comfortable looking like that. Her skin, which normally must have been tan, had a greyish tint and her grey eyes were dull. She looked familiar but from where…

Katniss Everdeen. The girl whose mother is my father's first love. The girl who's younger sister could bring a smile to anyone's face. The girl whose father was dead because of those stupid coal mines.

Katniss, the girl that set my heart racing every time I saw her.

Her slumped form looked normal to me. Like the people seen on the curbs in the morning. You would see them hunched near the trash bins or in front of store doors. Their last act of sympathy.

No…Katniss, no! Please, don't go yet…

Mother knocked me out of the way, stomped outside angrily yelling at her to get away. She slowly pulled herself to her feet and wobbled toward the pig pen and then leaned against the scraggly apple tree. Mom came back in grumbling annoyed.

I sniffed the air after a moment and noticed something wasn't quite right. My head snapped back up as I ran to the sent.

As I guessed the bread was starting to burn. It was still salvageable if I took it out now, but then I realized something. I pulled the bread out a little, but then shoved it back farther so it was directly in the flames. I franticly pulled it out so it was still edible, and when Mother saw me, she screamed.

"What's wrong with you!?" She shrieked. I saw a flash of something then pain. Sharp pain. In my left cheek. I let out a little yelp, and I just got smacked on the top of the head for making a sound. I bite the inside of my cheek and soon the metallic taste enters my mouth. "Go out there and feed it to the pigs you worthless thing! No one descent will eat burnt bread!"

Slam!

I am instantly soaked by the rain that poured down around us. I don't even try to block the hard droplets that bash against my skin. I just rip a piece of the bread off and throw it to the pigs. I hear Mom talking to Dad about my mistake and I take the opening.

If I was quick I could run out to the tree and hand it to her that would be the nice thing. But Mom will wonder where I am, and I don't want to get her in trouble. Mother's voice was quieting down, her rage slowing. I didn't have enough time. The bread burned my palms and I did the last thing I wanted.

I threw the bread as hard as I could in her direction then went inside.

I didn't even wait to see if she got it. I just ran into the house and Mom came over and started complaining about wet clothes and what a burden I could be. I just nodded and said I was sorry.

But like every other sorry, I didn't mean it. Because when I glanced out the window as I was shoved away to the bathroom, I saw her running away, and the bread was nowhere to be seen.