Peeta Mellark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shinyisfalse) wrote2013-02-16 07:42 pm
shinyisfalse) wrote2013-02-16 07:42 pm
Entry tags:
Peeta Mellark: Third Person Sample
He hadn’t slept through the night ever since he got here. He wasn’t sure if anyone really slept in the houses, considering the sort of things he’d been seeing every night. At first, Peeta thought that it was because of what the Capitol had done. He’d been working so hard with the doctors to become normal again, whatever normal he would be able to be, after all of this, but there were still times when he didn’t know which way was up. Who was the enemy. Even who he was, sometimes. And he kept seeing things, like images projected onto the white, sterile walls that he had seen in the sky on other nights in the past. Faces of dead tributes, especially the ones he had killed personally. In a twisted way, those were some of the only memories that hadn’t been tampered with, so he could feel the guilt to its fullest when he tried to sift through it all. But the things he had seen in the houses here had eclipsed some of the memories he was sorting out. There were the strange creatures around that Peeta swore had to be muttations, ones that always shifted between some sort of animal, but then combined to be part of a person. Like the one that he saw with a long braid earlier…
That had been his third night in the house. He’d buried himself in a room that didn’t have anyone close by, and he’d taken the handcuffs and clasped himself to the leg of a desk that he had been unable to move, hoping that it was bolted to the floor. That was the only way he could sleep right now in this place, and considering the dangers this place presented, he was most likely putting himself in harm’s way more then he should. That was the way his life was going, at the moment. Shackling himself to things, finding empty rooms so he could wake up screaming from nightmares that only got worse when he woke up. They always started the same, with the easy memory of being lost in the arena. Lately it was the first arena, the light filtering through the trees, the sound of the stream against the rocks. Peaceful and beautiful, something good to hold onto. All it took was a flash of brown hair, though, and it sent him running. It was running after him, blood dripping from its mouth, grey eyes, cold and unforgiving, the number twelve burning on her collar, and then he got distracted by something shiny behind her ear. Shiny, and so unlike what was about to take place that he could only stare at it, as it led him into a place where a pearl sat, perfect and untouched in a shell. Everything was so beautiful, right up until the monkeys started slashing at his face, and he woke up screaming. That had been his second night in the house.
Peeta couldn’t remember the first night, but he did know the fourth. He’d started looking around the place more, trying to find something familiar. Something he could hold onto, something that might remind him of home, but just enough for him to feel calm. To feel safe. So far, he had kept to the house he had arrived in, in that weird study, something they’d never really had before back in District 12, and he hadn’t seen much of it in the Capitol, either. He’d started walking, looking around, but he didn’t touch. He never touched anything he didn’t have to, as some of the soldier training they’d given him before he shipped out came into effect. Surprisingly, the training went along the same lines as the training he’d received before going into the arena; don’t touch or eat anything you don’t know is one hundred percent safe. Find a source of water, and then of food. He’d found the kitchen easily, and with water and food right at his fingertips, he’d taken what he needed. Just enough to feed himself, rehydrate, and it seemed to help. When he left the kitchen, he felt better. Like he could figure all of this out, that maybe he was calm enough to understand this place. He’d wandered the halls for a little bit, but the idea of fresh air appealed to him. He needed to feel not so confined, if just for a moment.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Running down the pathway, just to see the tree at the end. That tree encapsulated everything that Peeta was feeling right now. Had been feeling for some time now. That this tree being here seemed like a cruel twist of fate. They had shown him the clip of Katniss singing this song, and the memory that came from it had not been twisted. It was something he, Peeta, had retained in perfect condition. Something nothing could touch. Katniss’ father singing it outside the bakery. Listening to see if the birds stopped singing, when he was around; they did.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
There was a rope necklace there, just for him. And for the briefest of moments, Peeta knew that he could do it. That he could take that rope, put it around his neck, and forever he would be there, hanging with the other bodies, until he became one of them. But just as he knew that he could do that, with the utmost clarity, he knew that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill himself, not like this. If he was to die, and he knew he would, and soon, then it would be because he was doing something right. He had no qualms about sacrificing himself to save someone else, to save a revolution. They didn’t need a broken boy from a firebombed home. He couldn’t think like that. He shouldn’t. Instead, he went to reciting the list in his head, turning himself around and walking back the way he had come.
My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m seventeen years old. He thought, pausing once inside. “I’m in a house?” It was an almost relieved huff of laughter that he let go. “Real. I used to work in a bakery? Real. I’m going to find a bakery here?” That gave him pause, and he glanced around. There was no one around to ask these things to, and he couldn’t come up with the answers himself. “I want to see Katniss…” There, it was a small smile, like his old self. “Real. That’s real. This is all real.”
He could do this. Like Finnick said, it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart. Maybe now he could begin picking up the important pieces. Maybe he could find Peeta again.
That had been his third night in the house. He’d buried himself in a room that didn’t have anyone close by, and he’d taken the handcuffs and clasped himself to the leg of a desk that he had been unable to move, hoping that it was bolted to the floor. That was the only way he could sleep right now in this place, and considering the dangers this place presented, he was most likely putting himself in harm’s way more then he should. That was the way his life was going, at the moment. Shackling himself to things, finding empty rooms so he could wake up screaming from nightmares that only got worse when he woke up. They always started the same, with the easy memory of being lost in the arena. Lately it was the first arena, the light filtering through the trees, the sound of the stream against the rocks. Peaceful and beautiful, something good to hold onto. All it took was a flash of brown hair, though, and it sent him running. It was running after him, blood dripping from its mouth, grey eyes, cold and unforgiving, the number twelve burning on her collar, and then he got distracted by something shiny behind her ear. Shiny, and so unlike what was about to take place that he could only stare at it, as it led him into a place where a pearl sat, perfect and untouched in a shell. Everything was so beautiful, right up until the monkeys started slashing at his face, and he woke up screaming. That had been his second night in the house.
Peeta couldn’t remember the first night, but he did know the fourth. He’d started looking around the place more, trying to find something familiar. Something he could hold onto, something that might remind him of home, but just enough for him to feel calm. To feel safe. So far, he had kept to the house he had arrived in, in that weird study, something they’d never really had before back in District 12, and he hadn’t seen much of it in the Capitol, either. He’d started walking, looking around, but he didn’t touch. He never touched anything he didn’t have to, as some of the soldier training they’d given him before he shipped out came into effect. Surprisingly, the training went along the same lines as the training he’d received before going into the arena; don’t touch or eat anything you don’t know is one hundred percent safe. Find a source of water, and then of food. He’d found the kitchen easily, and with water and food right at his fingertips, he’d taken what he needed. Just enough to feed himself, rehydrate, and it seemed to help. When he left the kitchen, he felt better. Like he could figure all of this out, that maybe he was calm enough to understand this place. He’d wandered the halls for a little bit, but the idea of fresh air appealed to him. He needed to feel not so confined, if just for a moment.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here
No stranger would it be
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Running down the pathway, just to see the tree at the end. That tree encapsulated everything that Peeta was feeling right now. Had been feeling for some time now. That this tree being here seemed like a cruel twist of fate. They had shown him the clip of Katniss singing this song, and the memory that came from it had not been twisted. It was something he, Peeta, had retained in perfect condition. Something nothing could touch. Katniss’ father singing it outside the bakery. Listening to see if the birds stopped singing, when he was around; they did.
Are you, Are you
Coming to the tree
Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here,
No stranger would it be,
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
There was a rope necklace there, just for him. And for the briefest of moments, Peeta knew that he could do it. That he could take that rope, put it around his neck, and forever he would be there, hanging with the other bodies, until he became one of them. But just as he knew that he could do that, with the utmost clarity, he knew that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill himself, not like this. If he was to die, and he knew he would, and soon, then it would be because he was doing something right. He had no qualms about sacrificing himself to save someone else, to save a revolution. They didn’t need a broken boy from a firebombed home. He couldn’t think like that. He shouldn’t. Instead, he went to reciting the list in his head, turning himself around and walking back the way he had come.
My name is Peeta Mellark. I’m seventeen years old. He thought, pausing once inside. “I’m in a house?” It was an almost relieved huff of laughter that he let go. “Real. I used to work in a bakery? Real. I’m going to find a bakery here?” That gave him pause, and he glanced around. There was no one around to ask these things to, and he couldn’t come up with the answers himself. “I want to see Katniss…” There, it was a small smile, like his old self. “Real. That’s real. This is all real.”
He could do this. Like Finnick said, it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart. Maybe now he could begin picking up the important pieces. Maybe he could find Peeta again.