Today is another rainy day, one in which the water comes from the sky in torrents and relentlessly soaks me to the bone. I have little defense from it other than my father's jacket and even that, with its thick and supple leather, doesn't do much. But rain or no, I have no choice but to trudge deep into the woods in search of game. I've had to go progressively deeper into the woods as our town makes the slow and cruel progression into winter. Most of the animals have just gone into hibernation; huddled deep underground or in a cave where the cold and my arrows cannot reach them.

I reluctantly drag myself out of bed into the freezing air, much to the disappointment of Prim, who now has no one to warm her freezing toes against. I look at her sleeping face, her little body huddled into a ball. Even in her sleeping state I can see her bony shoulders and her too thin torso. Her face isn't round with youth as it should be, instead showing the hollows of a girl who has been too affected by the change in weather.

She reminds me why I'm doing this, why I'm getting up at 5 in the morning to go freeze and slip and strain my eyes against the rising sun. She is by far the most important thing in my life, and I must protect her.

That's not to say that I don't feel the consequences that the lack of food has brought upon us. Being naturally slim before, I now look almost emaciated. I have lost any fat I once had, which makes me even more ill equipped to face the biting cold and merciless downpour that greets me each morning.

It makes it even worse that I don't have the right clothes to protect my fragile body from the harsh winds and unforgiving cold.

I sigh as I survey my dresser and the meager selection it displays to me. As always, I have no choice but to layer as much as I can, in lieu of any piece of clothing that isn't worn thin and threadbare. I settle on my thermals, a given in this weather, and my thickest pair of pants, dark brown corduroys that have been patched too many times to count. I top it off with a long sleeve shirt and a sweater, both that will go under my late father's hunting jacket.

I slip on two pairs of my patched wool socks and complete the ensemble with my well-worn hunting boots. Besides my fathers jacket, they are the nicest things I own and have saved me many a time from painful blisters or frostbitten toes.

The rain is still pounding on our little roof when I make my way into the living and kitchen area of our small home. I am reminded of the hunger gnawing in my belly when I pass the empty cabinets, wishing desperately that we had some bread or crackers for me to munch on.

Unfortunately, there is nothing of the sort in our home and I must get going to ensure we'll have something to eat later.

I grab my jacket, put it on, and head out the door, being careful to close it gently so that the noise does not wake Prim. She will have to leave for school in a few hours and she needs as much rest as she can get. I feel bad that she has to make the half-hour walk to school alone, let alone in the rain, as she is only 10. I would love to wake her up, make her breakfast, and walk her to school but I have to get up early to hunt so that we will not starve.

The source of our predicament is a stormy day four months ago. Prim was sick and my parents had borrowed our neighbor's car so my mother could go to the drug store and get something to make her feel better. My mother didn't know how to drive so my father had taken her. On their way back, the rain was coming in torrents, much like it is today, and it was extremely dark. The headlamps on my neighbor's car were very dim and did not do much to combat the cover of darkness. The car came across a small tree that had been felled by the storm about a mile from our home. My father failed to see it and thus failed to slow down. The car flipped over after meeting the tree and apparently slid for a ways. The car had nothing to stop them from flying through the front windshield and the impact killed them. I never saw their bodies, as the sheriff said they were too damaged and mangled for a young lady to see. They were buried in our backyard two days later in front of a small gathering of friends and family.

The death of my parents has forced me to become the sole provider for my sister at the tender age of 17, a fact that has shaped my life and my identity irreversibly. While money was tight before, the financial strain is unbearable now. I have tried and tried again to find a job but with the economy being the way it is, no one is hiring. Even if they were, they would not want to hire a poor girl who has been ravaged by hunger.

Up until now, we've been able to manage on the small amount of money that my father kept for emergencies. I've been able to pay the rent with it and buy some food items, but I just recently exhausted the meager supply of funds. We have no money for rent and no money for food, which means I have no choice but to hunt and gather what I can and figure out the rest later.

For the past few weeks I have been hunting in an effort to try to procure some sustenance for my sister and I. Each morning I get up early, I go to the woods and bring home anything edible I can shoot or find, I go to the Hob or bakery to trade whatever I can spare, and then I come home and look at my sisters sunken face as she eats the inadequate meal I struggled to provide for her.

Despite how depressing it is, it is something I must do. I take a moment to stretch before I start the walk to the forest. My muscles are constantly sore and achy from so many hours spent in tension, waiting for game or trying to be still enough to kill it. After a few attempts at limbering up, I begin the trek, passing the vast expanses of land that separate the homes in this part of town.

I live in a mining town in western Pennsylvania. Most of the families here rely on their fathers or husband's mining jobs for their next meal. Working in the mines is hard, backbreaking work. The hours are long and the pay is not good, but these days most folks are happy to have any pay at all.

My father worked in the mines and he would come home each day exhausted, covered in coal dust and ready to collapse into bed. My mother would have his bath and dinner waiting for him each day when he got home and would often help him bathe. They were very much in love and it showed in the simple, loving rituals she preformed for him.

If you don't own one of the few small businesses in the town square, then mining is just about your only option for work. Lately, even some of the miners have been getting laid off due to decreased demand because of the depression. I considered trying to get a job at the mines but knew that it would ultimately be a fruitless endeavor; I am not strong enough for that kind of work and would certainly not be hired while they are laying off perfectly capable, hardworking men.

That left the only hope for a job in the few merchant families such as those who own the grocer, bakery, drug, and general store. It was extremely hard for me to approach each of those business owners to ask for a job, as it wounded my pride. It made it even worse when they turned me away each time. The only shop that I did not plead at for a job had been the bakery, as I have a profound sense of debt to Mr. Mellark and I felt it would be incredibly selfish to exacerbate that by asking for a job.

About three months ago, only a month after my parent's death, I had gone to the back door of the bakery to trade with Mr. Mellark as I so often do. As always, he was very nice to me and generous in his trade. I had four squirrels to trade for bread and we had agreed upon one loaf of his white bread as payment for the squirrels. I did not look in the bag while I was at his back door and was oblivious to the added weight of the bag in my haste to get home and eat. When I got home I had found two loaves of his hearty nut bread and two of his delicious cheese buns. I knew it was not a mistake and that he had consciously given me such a foolishly generous bounty. I did not know it at the time but that bread had saved me from having to spend money for a couple days, ultimately stretching the amount of time we were able to subsist off the little money we had.

Because of his kindness and charity, I refuse to ask Mr. Mellark for a job. It is enough that I allow him to regularly give me an extra roll or two when we trade. He is a very kind man and I refuse to take advantage of him by begging him for employment.

With the thought of trading with Mr. Mellark and receiving soft, warm bread I walk a little faster towards the edge of the forest which is now in my line of sight. I am grateful to reach the cover of the trees and find myself instantly calmed in the presence of the woods, my favorite place. There is a certain peace that comes from being alone here; it allows me to feel as though I am not breaking under the weight of my responsibilities for a few moments.

I retrieve my bow from its place in the hollow trunk of an old tree and start on my mission of finding prey to take home to my sister.

After about three hours of searching desperately, I have bagged a pitiful three squirrels and a rabbit, not nearly enough to nourish Prim and I. The rain is still pouring hard and I am shivering from prolonged exposure to the cold. I feel hopeless and sufficiently exhausted as I trudge deeper and deeper into the woods and find nothing more. I come across a flat rock and decide to sit down and rest for a couple minutes before making the long journey home.

I am dizzy and wish nothing more than to go home, eat a warm meal, and sleep for many hours. The fact that I have not eaten anything except a roll in a day and half means that I tire easily and traipsing through the woods is already taxing enough without the weakness and loss of stamina from severe hunger. During my trek here I had to take many breaks and lost my breath easily. I surmise it is close to 11 in the morning and it is time and past that I turn back so that I am home in time to pick my sister up from school. I come to the conclusion that I have to return back home promptly. There is no game around here and I risk collapsing from exhaustion every moment I stay out in the cold.

I reluctantly stand up and make my way back into the dense flock of trees from which I came. I start the hike back, cold, soaked to the bone, and thoroughly exhausted. I have to stop frequently to catch my breath, often leaning up against a tree and taking a sip from my almost-empty canteen that I keep in a pocket on the outside of my game bag.

Every time I pull my canteen out I am reminded of how small my haul is and how it will fail to fill Prim's stomach. As I am walking I decide that I will make a quick trip to the bakery to trade the squirrels before I pick up Prim. Then I will go home and try to stretch this rabbit as far as I can by making a soup. I wish fiercely that I had vegetables to make it into a stew, but I simply have nothing of the sort and no way to get it. Fruits and vegetables are relatively scarce at the Hob, the name of the grocer's store, which means that they are fairly expensive. Unless you are a merchant, you likely don't have access to the few articles of produce that are grown within the town. Occasionally, deliveries will be made to stock the stores, but they are not frequent enough to provide us with ample amounts of fruits and vegetables.

Despite my wishes and fantasies of more, we have what we have and I must make it stretch as far as possible. The precious rolls I get from the bakery will go with the soup and help us wipe the last precious drops of it from the inside of our bowls. I will use the rabbit's bones for the broth and carefully skin the pelt so that I may add it to my collection that I was hoping to make something out of for Prim. I do not have enough yet to make anything, as I have not been catching many rabbits, but I hope I will soon, as the winter looks as though it is going to be an especially cold one.

After a long and grueling walk I finally arrive at the edge of the woods and see the home that I passed on my way into the forest. My tired legs are grateful as I find myself at the bakery's back door a short while after and can stop walking for a moment. I waste no time in knocking on the back door and hope fervently that the baker is not repelled by my soaking and haggard appearance, as I'm sure I would be if someone were to show up at my doorstop looking like this. Luckily, the baker smiles warmly at me upon opening the door and my insecurities are promptly set aside. His very essence is redolent of a hug and exudes comfort.

Peeta Mellark owns the town bakery and is by far the youngest shop owner. He is only a couple years older than I am and was in my class at school when I still went there. His father opened the bakery before he was born, and was well liked by the whole town. Unfortunately, he died suddenly of a heart attack when Peeta was sixteen, about three years ago. Peeta dropped out of school at that time because his mother made him work full time. While that is not something that is especially cruel or unusual, I had never liked his mother. She is a witch of a woman and I have seen her hit and verbally berate her only son on multiple occasions.

Just last year, Peeta turned 18 and inherited the bakery that his father left him. Because the bakery now legally belonged to Peeta and not Mrs. Mellark, Mrs. Mellark left town and abandoned her son overnight. It was the talk of the town for quite a few weeks but everyone seems to have accepted it now. Mr. Mellark runs the bakery with little help and is kind and pleasant to everyone.

He has broad shoulders and a stocky yet tall build. While he is a large man, with muscular arms and a strong torso, he is anything but intimidating. Unlike most girls around here, I do not harbor any romantic feelings towards him, but I can understand why some do. He has a handsome face with a defined jaw line, sandy blonde hair, and the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen. He also has long eyelashes and plump lips that create a stunning smile. Many a time I have overheard high pitched giggles in the schoolyard about how the speaker would love to enjoy the physical benefits of being married to such a handsome young man.

Personally, I've always thought such talk was foolish. I've never had much interest in marriage or being a proper lady, and I certainly don't have the luxury of the spare time to entertain such thoughts. Sure, Mr. Mellark may very well be one of the most handsome men in town, but that doesn't mean I'm going to fawn over him and dream of having his fair skinned babies. He is a nice man and I appreciate the kindness he has showed towards me, and that is the end of it.

"Hi, Katniss." He greets me while smiling broadly. Behind him I can see a large surface with various doughs spread out on a light layer of flour. The scent is heavenly; it is thick with cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. I feel a tad warmer than I had a moment ago, with the small awning I am standing under to shield me from the rain in addition to the heat generated by the giant wood-burning ovens that has escaped the bakery.

"Hello, Mr. Mellark, I have some squirrels for you today." I say without preamble; I've never been good at making small talk, however pleasant someone might be to me.

"That sounds great, how many do you have today?" Upon closer inspection, Mr. Mellark seems a little flustered. He has a blush on his cheeks and he keeps running his hand through his curly hair. I wonder what is troubling him and decide that I should keep the exchange as short as possible so that he can go back to whatever he was doing.

"I have three. They're a little slim so I think five rolls is a fair trade." If I'm being honest I would probably take three rolls as payment, definitely four.

"No, that's not enough how about you come inside and we can discuss it." He asks timidly as he sidesteps to allow me entrance. I know he must be taking pity on me as he can see I'm soaking wet. If I wasn't shivering from the cold and I couldn't feel how delicious the warmth from inside is, I would absolutely refuse. Today I just don't have it in me though and I reason with myself that I'll only be a minute.

"That's kind of you sir, thank you." I say as I enter the threshold. I'm instantly enveloped by the warmth of the bakery and the delectable smells from whatever treat he is making. I am standing in the bakery kitchen for the first time and while it is humble in size, it is lovely. There are two large ovens off to the side and a moderately sized counter with a deep, cracked sink. The main workspace is the island in the middle of the room that is covered with flour as I saw earlier. There are some cabinets above the sink that I imagine hold all the flours and chocolates and sweeteners that the baker uses to concoct his beautiful treats. While old and worn, the space is charming and I can imagine it would not be unpleasant to spend your days here.

I also notice that there are a few sporadically placed paintings on the walls. They range in size from a piece of standard paper to about the width and length of my torso. While they are of ordinary and even ugly things, such as dandelions or the little weed infested meadow outside of town, they are easily the most beautiful paintings I have ever seen. They are so vivid I can smell the meadow grasses and hear the sound of birds chirping in the springtime. The imagery brings a faint smile to my face before I manage to suppress it. I imagine that Mr. Mellark must have received these as a gift from a family member abroad or perhaps from a very talented friend. They look extremely expensive.

I am drawn out of my reverie when Mr. Mellark clears his throat. I instantly blush at my rudeness; here he is, inviting a dripping girl into his home and I stand here gawking at the walls. He must have many important things to do.

He is even more flushed than before and looks downright sheepish. He is not the picture of poise and ease that he usually is and I remind myself that he must have a very pressing issue on his hand to be this flustered.

"I'm sorry for staring. Those paintings are just very beautiful; I've never seen anything like them. But anyway, lets just agree upon a number of rolls and I'll be out of your hair, I'm sure you're very busy." I am painfully self-conscious as I stand in front of him in his homey bakery and wait for a reply.

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, like a gaping fish. He finally manages to stammer out a few sentences. "N..no..not at all! I'm not busy I mean. And thank you, about the paintings. I've never been complimented on them before. And as for payment, how about I give you a loaf of the nut and raisin bread? Would that be ok? I can give you something different if you prefer."

I'm a little stunned by his offer. The bread he is referring to is by far the heartiest and one of the most expensive items they have. What I have would be barely worth a slice of that bread let alone an entire loaf. We could eat off of it for days. But it is not a fair trade.

"Mr. Mellark that is a very generous offer and hardly fair. All I have is a few measly squirrels."

"I must disagree. These are no ordinary squirrels. These are expertly shot squirrels. They will make a delicious meal and I'm only offering what it fair." He seems slightly less flustered now, probably because business transactions are commonplace for him and he feels comfortable bartering.

"Thank you for your praise but however expertly shot, they are still squirrels."

"Yes but I love squirrels. And besides, you would be doing me a favor. It is a slow day and I am certain that I will not sell this bread. I would absolutely hate to see it go to waste."

That's a boldfaced lie and we both know it. His bakery does very well, and it has been very few days where I have not seen merchant wives lining up outside the bakery in the morning to make sure they get what they want. But he knows that he has convinced me. It is painfully clear how desperate for food I am and my refusal is pathetic. I know this is merely well disguised charity but I have to swallow my pride. If not for myself then for Prim.

"If you insist." I try not to scowl and look more ungrateful than I already do.

He just smiles shyly in reply and goes to the front to fetch the bread. He has a slight limp as he walks because of an accident a few years back. He was only fourteen and was attacked by a rabid dog as he was trying to feed it some stale bread. In his innocence and generosity he advanced too quickly towards the dog, which was scared and lashed out and latched onto his left leg. The accident left his leg torn and some of the nerves damaged. Because of this he walks with a slight limp, which is barely noticeable.

He comes back a moment later with a brown paper bag heavy with the weight of the hearty bread. He approaches the spot in which I'm dripping onto his tiled floor and he sheepishly holds out the bag for me to take. I do so gently and then he takes back his proffered hand to rub the back of his neck, what I'm sure is a nervous habit. I'm again reminded on my intrusion and make a move towards the back door to leave the way I came.

He sees that I am about to leave and holds out a hand as if to stop me but thinks better of it and withdraws it slowly. His cheeks are even more flushed than before when he speaks.

"Um, I know you probably have to get going but I actually had something to ask you. Would you mind staying for a moment? I could get you a towel and some tea. I promise it won't take long."

He stands awkwardly as he nervously awaits my reply but I find myself momentarily speechless. What could Peeta Mellark possibly have to ask me? I'm suddenly nervous but must admit that drying off and having a quick cup of tea before the trek home sounds lovely. My curiosity and desire for warmth gets the better of me when I hastily reply.

"Sure, that sounds fine."

He quickly moves to pull out a stool for me at the work counter and steps back as he anxiously addresses me.

"I'll just go get a towel real quick, feel free to sit down."

I nod at him as he leaves the room and I take a deep breath. This entire interaction seems very strange to me and my stomach is a pit of nervousness and apprehension. I can't possibly imagine what his motives are and why he has always extended such hospitability and kindness towards me. Especially now, when I have arrived soaked to the bone at the back door of his bakery with a pathetic offering of squirrels in hand. I've surely interrupted him from important work but yet he has offered me a charitable trade and is now fetching a towel for me to dry off with. To say I feel uncomfortable and out of my element would be an understatement.

He returns with a worn towel in hand and hands it to me as he then retrieves some tea that he had brewing when I came in. He hands me a chipped teacup and then takes a seat to my side and turns to face me.

"I don't want to keep you from anything important so I'll just get down to it. I've been running this bakery by myself for about a year now and while I managed fine at first, the long hours have been starting to take a toll on me. I decided that I want to hire someone to help me out and I was wondering if you would be interested in working here."

He's anxiously awaiting a response but I'm shocked. I wonder why he would possibly want me to work here and the question slips out before I can stop it in fear of sounding foolish.

"You want me to work here?"

"Yes, I do. Only if you want to of course but I'd pay you fairly well and teach you everything you need to know."

My first instinct is to refuse because he's taking pity on me. There are many people in this town much more qualified for this job. I have no baking experience aside from making the occasional biscuit and I'm too weak to be of any help in lifting large bags of flour. I think of my pride and if it's worth preserving my dignity to see Prim starve. It's not. I don't know why he's being so generous or why he wants me to work for him. It seems too good to be true and it might be but I have to accept before he thinks better of it and rescinds his offer. I gather my thoughts quickly and move my eyes from where I had been staring at him with a stupid look on my face no doubt.

"I….I would be happy to work here if you'll have me."

He stares at me for a moment with a shocked look on his face, as if the prospect of a starving girl accepting a job offer is so ludicrous.

"Really? That's… that's great! I'm very glad, Katniss, I think you'll be a great fit."

He seems genuinely excited which puzzles me but I have not forgotten how uncomfortable I am and that I need to go pick Prim up.

"I'll work very hard, I won't let you down. When do you want me to start?" I say as I get up from my stool with my bag of bread to leave.

He stands up with me. "Umm.. Tomorrow? Is that ok?"

"Of course, what time?"

"Could you get here at 5? I know it's very early but it would be good if you could see how the morning preparations go." He looks nervous and apprehensive again, the earlier excitement gone from his boyish face. We've both walked towards the door and are standing close to each other, me with my wet hair and scrawny frame and him with his well fed muscles and rosy cheeks.

"Absolutely. I'll be here at 5 o'clock sharp."

"Perfect. Thank you for doing this Katniss, I really appreciate it. I'll see you tomorrow."

At that he holds the door open for me and I once again step into the pouring rain. I put the bag of bread under my sweater to keep it from getting soaked and walk around to the front of the bakery to head towards the school to pick up my sister. My curiosity gets the better of me and I look back at the bakery as I reach the main road. I find a pair of clear blue eyes staring back at me, half hidden by the curtain he's pushed back to watch me. He quickly pulls away from the window when he sees I've spotted him.

On my way to the school, all I can think about is why Peeta Mellark would offer me a job. And more importantly, why he's always been so generous to me. I'm wary of his motives but find I have no choice other than to see what happens.