My name is Peeta Mellark

*For Creative Writing In Class* My name is Peeta Mellark. . . My name is Peter Mellark. . . I come from district 12. I survived The Hunger Games, and the Quarter Quell. I have been captured by the capital. My one thought? . . . Save Katniss. **Thanks to Jade. P for the cover! **


4. The Perfect Bed

Suddenly the woman's crazed look disappeared. She whipped around and the knife clattered to the floor. Quickly she scurried toward the chipped cupboards in the corner, and opened them all. Herbs and remedies went flying, but some ended up in a cloth bag she had ripped from her dress. From the looks of it, she had ripped the bottom of her dress several times for circumstances such as this. 

After she had filled it, she came back to the place where I lay, still frozen in horror. "Rub the remedies on your knee and ankle, and rub the herbs on your forehead and arms. The blue vial should revive headaches and the green bruise pains." she whispered. "Now go. Before I kill you." she said. 

I didn't need to be told twice. I scurried out the door, my breath threatening to blow up my lungs. As I dragged my ragged body across the hall I passed by a small window, and by the looks of it, the sun was setting. My pace quickened, while the voice of Shavor danced in my head, "hurry up boy. You stupid pig."

When I reached my blasted cell, a new man stood by the door. He smiled at me and said, "according to injury circumstances, Shavor has been escorted from your arrivals and escorts. I shall be your caretaker from now forth. And I took it upon myself to comfy up the cell, according to your past life. I also found a couple pictures you might like." his smile disappeared as he looked around. I walked toward the door, but he grabbed my arm. I turned my head to face his shaking body. "Don't give him the reaction he wants, boy. Don't give him what will lead to the destruction of her." he let go of me and I opened the hatch, grateful that I wasn't being thrown into it.

My bed was exactly what I had expected. It was small, with a rusted gold frame, and a no-longer-white blanket. I rubbed the edges, which were burnt, and I pondered why. Shrugging my shoulders, I got into the bed, not daring to look at the photos. I knew what they were of. 

As the night went on, my nerves made me. I looked at the pictures, and tears formed in my eyes. They were all images from the security systems in the training area before the games. But I didn't give him the response he wanted. I only sighed and rolled back over, holding Katniss close to me. Just how it used to be.

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