What you’re about to read, with my apprehension, is an incomplete version of my short story Katniss is a Killer. It’s based off of the novel series The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, only mine is in point of view of Peeta Mellark, whereas hers is in the perspective of Katniss Everdeen. Just as quick summary of the book to give some background for this story: It is set in the future in Panem, a country of 12 Districts all controlled by the central power, the Capitol. As a reminder that the Capitol is in control, they host an event called The Hunger Games, where one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 to 18 will be chosen to fight until death for the country’s entertainment on live television. For the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss and Peeta are chosen as the boy and girl from District Twelve, where they defeat the Games together. For the following year, which so happens to be the Quarter Quell, they are enrolled yet another time to fight until death along with still-living victors of the other districts. During this time in the second arena, Katniss is taken off by rebels in District 13 plotting to overrule the Capitol, whereas Peeta isn’t in time to be captured. He is taken back to the Capitol where he is tortured and brainwashed, turning his vision of Katniss, the woman he loved, into a killer. This is where my story picks up, in the point of view as Peeta when he is brainwashed.
Where I start off, he has just been captured and released to President Snow, but after their interaction, his mind is almost completely erased, as if to start from scratch as the Capitol’s own weapon against the rebellion.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Peeta blinked to find himself staring at President Snow in the chair across from his in a too-sweet pink, Victorian-styled room. He didn’t answer.
“I said,” he repeated, “do you KNOW why you’re here?”
Peeta smelt the sickening aroma of roses and blood. The two did not mix well, and he wondered where the smell had come from.
“I don’t.” He croaked. All he could think about was what had gotten him here. The memory was fuzzy, but he remembered being in the arena during a terrible thunderstorm. He, Katniss, Beetee and Johanna were about to break the force field using the Capitol’s manmade lightning.
“Well, Mr. Mellark, I’m going to tell you why you’re here.”
It was the first time someone had referred to him using his actual name. In the Capitol’s holding place, he was only known as DSRT12PM.
“Your good friends back at home and in District 13 are planning something special for Panem. Do you know what that may be?” He said, sounding almost sarcastically sweet.
He was confused by the “District 13” the President had mentioned considering he, along with everyone else in Panem, was taught that District 13 no longer existed. It was destroyed after they rebelled against the Capitol years before Peeta was born.
President Snow stood up and became face to face with Peeta. “Now, boy, I could kill you and have it over with, and no one would even know. But I know you have answers, and I know you will give me answers, or else there will be serious consequences, not only for you but for your family, your friends, your District, and your COUNTRY.”
He said it as if was all jumbled into one sentence. Now Peeta knew where the smell of blood was from; it lingered on the President himself. “This can be done easily or this can be done hard, with pain. You will experience torture you would have never imagined to be possible. All you have to do is answer me. Now what have they done, what have they told you?”
Peeta remained silent, not to be persuading the President, but because he didn’t know what to say. No one had told him anything.
“Fine, your choice. Take him!”
A group of men barged into the large doors entering into the room. Dressed in all black, they encircled Peeta and took hold of his arms. Peeta was scared, he wasn’t aware of what was going on. He had been in the arena and here before he even knew it. Clenching his blond hair, the men carried him off.
Late into the night, the snow fell and deep into the massive building, it became quieter and quieter. It was dark, an unusual, artificial dark. Only the noise of a soft symphony hallowed the empty halls.
Peeta opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor inside a cell. Dust consumed the surface and darkness overtook his vision. Only a dim light from the outside shone through the barred window close to the floor, and he felt the snow against his fingers. The ground was uncomfortably cold against his skin. Leaning against the wall, he closed his eyes and felt himself being calmed by the melody. He had heard it before, but no more of his memory could be obtained. It was like his whole mind had been completely wiped out, and he didn’t even know his name.
Bang. A slamming door broke the sweet, musically hued silence. Boots trudged against the cement ground, gradually getting closer and closer. The cell door swung open and synthetic light poured through. Shadowy figures gripped his lanky arms and lifted him on his foot. With a spray of a misty substance, he was out.
He sat up on a cold, hard surface in a blinding white room. The world around him wouldn’t stop moving but his body itself was stiff. He was covered in bandages and welts. In the background, he could hear the “zzz”-ing sound of a saw and mumbling chatter. Four pairs of hands pushed his backside onto the table so forcefully he couldn’t resist, and they buckled him down.
“No, NO, please!” he screamed. “What’s going on here? Where am I?”
He couldn’t see anything but people in white from top to bottom surrounding him, black-gloved hands worked on parts of his body. Ignoring him completely, he was placed in a wooden chair and his hands were buckled to a metal rod sprouting from the speckled-tiled floor. He had too many thoughts in his head he didn’t know what to say. But still, he ruthlessly twitched and shook. Just then his eyes were covered with a dark blindfold, completely obscuring his vision.
“Please, what have I done wrong? Can someone tell me what’s happening?” He cried through weak breaths.
Just then an electrifying frenzy took over his body. He felt the shock waves through his fingers all the way through his body and to his toes. The pain was unbearable. His violent, high-pitched screams exposed his true agony and straining resistance.
It stopped. His breath, still heavy and coming more often than it should, took up all his energy.
Once he gained enough force, he challenged the cuffs holding him to the rod and vigorously shook his arms. The circuit began again.
It’s like the one’s in charge were watching him; waiting until he was weak, letting him gain enough might, then bombard him again.
No matter how hard he fidgeted, he was immobile. His blindfold was taken off and the teams of workers were looking at him with blank faces.
“WHY IS NO ONE ANSWERING ME?”
He became more and more aggravated as to why no one was answering him. He restlessly shook and pulled until he felt a stinging sensation in his right arm. An immense needle was being plunged into his skin, and the world began blurring again. He went to move his hand to pull it out, but his hand wasn’t responding and his whole body shut down. The last thing he remembered was earplugs being stuck in his ears, mimicking the sweet symphony that had hallowed the halls before.
For another time, he woke up in an unusual place. This time the room was dark and a musty scent filled his nostrils. A basement he thought. He was propped in an uncomfortable chair, and felt the straps holding him back against his chest, ankles, and wrists. An unknown liquid was being pumped into his vein with an IV. His ears were covered with large headphones, replaying the beautiful melody he had heard much too often while incased in these mysterious walls. A screen before him was showing a picture of what white noise would look like, if it were a vision and not a sound. But under the tune of the song, he heard a deep voice he had never noticed before.
Katniss is bad. Katniss is a killer. Katniss destroyed your district, District 12, along with your family and all your friends. You must kill Katniss. You must kill Katniss. You will not be happy until you kill Katniss. Your friends and family will suffer unless you kill Katniss. Katniss is bad. Katniss is a killer…
He was scared, for being knocked out and waking up in strange places was a new world to him. He had wondered why he was in this mysterious place and who was doing this to him.
The name Katniss rung in his mind. He knew the name, just didn’t know where from, but the thought gave off an affectionate appeal. He wasn’t sure he knew Katniss. He wasn’t quite sure of anything to be honest.
The screen then went black, catching his attention. A portrait of Katniss appeared before him. She was standing upright with her brunette side braid and mocking jay pin secured to her green hunting jacket. A beautiful set of bow and arrows were flung on her back, confidently adding respect to her posture. As the picture remained, he peered into her grey eyes. Then all the memories fled back to him: of his undying love for her, of his romance with her in the arena and his promising relations for the future. He was so glad to have some recollection of his previous life.
Before he knew what was going on, the screen began switching horrifying pictures and changing every second only to reveal an even more horrible one. They portrayed the arena Peeta had defeated in his first Hunger Games; only Katniss was doing such acts that corresponded to the voices he heard. She was seen releasing a bow into little Rue’s heart, the District 11 girl who was in reality allies with her. A smile grew upon her face, as if satisfied by the slaughter. It wasn’t the Katniss he remembered: the one he loved for her sweet understanding. Then it switched to Katniss as a mutt-mutant with dark brown hair and the Seam’s gray eyes, the eyes that Katniss and Gale shared.
Then the worst image of all: Katniss, encased in Gale’s arms as they looked into each other’s eyes. This image didn’t blink in an instant like the others. It stayed put, to mock the innocent boy quivering in the chair. As he fixed his eyes, a physical pain started to erupt in his chest. His veins started pulsating and his temperature rose. He began violently jerking in his chair, trying to remove the IV and escape from the room.
A band of more people dressed in white from head to toe gave him a shot in his arm, restraining him from movement. He was forced to sit, letting the gory film take over his mind.
He kept trying to close his eyes and blink out the “memories” being inserted into his brain, memories he knew were not true, but the actuality of the truth was slowly escaping. With every blink, more disturbing pictures were being flashed before his eyes. And with every blink, his imagine of Katniss was progressing into a menacing monster.
Days went by. The same treatment, the same routine. The same horrible sound he once
called a melody constantly taunting him, day and night. It turned his stomach. He tried to block it out with his own humming, but it always overtook him, always gained volume. It was like they were watching him, knowing when he was covering his ears or when he was trying to sleep.
Sleep. It was the one thing that kept him sane, the one way to escape this nightmare he was living. But as the days went on, it became a privilege when he was able to block the noise and forget where he was incased. When he did fall asleep, it was a light drift, and it only brought the gory pictures of Katniss back into his mind.
Nothing could help him escape, physically or mentally. Closing his eyes insured gruesome pictures, opening them only led to staring at the tenebrous cell that only stared back. He hadn’t talked to a human being since before he could remember, and when he asked the people in charge, the only answer he got was silence.
But the silence was broken with a bang of a metal door. The sound was familiar, considering he heard it twice a day, being dragged out of the cell and thrown back in.
Throughout his time here, he had never seen or heard another person, another prisoner. He had gotten used to being alone.
The same boots he heard everyday were trudging along the cement floor. Screams, piercing and threatening and he could hear the true fear in the woman’s voice.
“LEAVE ME ALONE. LET GO OF ME.” The sound of a wet body slamming across the floor triggered cries of agony, deafening shrieks. Then harsh sobs, followed by the slam of a cell door and the metal door from before.
Minutes went by before either made a sound. Peeta thought if the girl knew he was in there as well. He awkwardly shifted his leg around then coughed.
The girl wiped her tears. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Who is there?” she said, more aggravated.
“I’m not quite sure who I am. Or where I am,” he replied timidly.
There was a pause. Then in a giddy but confused voice, she responded, “Peeta? Peeta is that you?”
Peeta. The word brought back part of his life that felt so close, yet so far away. The name was so familiar, he felt like the relation was right in front of him but he couldn’t see it.
“It’s me, Johanna.” Johanna, another familiar term, but he couldn’t quite grasp whom it related to. “Oh my God, Peeta, I’m so glad you’re here-” she stopped herself. “Well, not here, but…” her voice dropped, “Peeta, what have they done to you?”
His brain was throbbing; he wanted the questions to stop. He began to miss his lonesome silence.
“You don’t remember anything, do you?” She whispered.
She came to a conclusion that he was in no state like before. “I was in the second Hunger Games with you, Peeta. We’re… we’re in the Capitol. We’ve been captured and tortured. Have they tortured you, Peeta?”
He thought of the continuous hours in the dark, musty room with the horrifying pictures. Of his countless nights and days listening to the same, repetitive melody. How he hadn’t eaten anything for days on end.
“Have they tortured you?” Peeta asked, not really willing to answer her question.
“They found my weakness,” she answered, without hesitation. “It’s crazy what they can do to you- the Capitol that is. They have technology to get inside your mind. They can alter it. They know your every memory, every fear, every…weakness.” She paused. “I was six. My mom, dad, and I were all at this lake. No one ever knew about it. The lake was our place. It was a beautiful sunset evening and all the little fish were coming out to feed. I never knew how to swim, so my dad tried to teach me by throwing me in the lake and assumed I’d just swim, but I didn’t. I nearly drown. It was a good minute and a half before they realized I wasn’t swimming back, and he had to dive in and get me.” She paused. “It scared me for life. Never again could I go into the water, or even go back to the lake. It ruined my perfect getaway.”
It was quite for a while. “So what did they do?” Peeta added.
“Water. They use water. Drench me and electrify until I squeal. But I never squeal, so it never stops.” She didn’t sound frightened at all. She sounded melancholy. Peeta knew she wasn’t going to let anyone see her actual fear, but she let her guard down for him while telling the story.
“Aren’t you scared they’re listening now?” Peeta whispered.
“They already know the story. They know everything that goes on in my head. I have nothing to be afraid about.” She shifted. “You haven’t told them anything, right?”
“Don’t worry about me. I can’t tell them anything if I don’t know anything.”
And the conversation ended.
Peeta didn’t know how much time had went by since he arrived. With what he knew, he could be asleep in some lab for days without even realizing. But time went on and Johanna and Peeta became familiar with each other’s torture screams and schedules. When both in their cells, they were their source of being sane. No one would answer either one of them.
Peeta was improving with regaining his memory. Johanna would help him, telling him stories. They were surprised with the constricting grip of the Capitol’s control that they would have been separated. And that’s just what happened.
One day Johanna didn’t come back to her cell. Peeta waited, but he never heard from her again. With every minute Johanna was gone, the Capitol was able to temper more with his brain, and he soon began to believe everything he was told.
“Katniss is bad. Katniss is a killer. Katniss destroyed your district, District 12, along with your family and all your friends. You must kill Katniss. You must kill Katniss. You will not be happy until you kill Katniss. Your friends and family will suffer unless you kill Katniss. Katniss is bad. Katniss is a killer…” He repeated, slamming his fists into the concrete wall, as the snow fell and fell and his pounds became louder and louder.
