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Peeta Mellark in the Hands of the Capitol

Quentin A., Queensbury, NY By firelord, Queensbury, NY

I wake up every day not knowing the date, or the day of the week for that matter. My skin has become paler and the areas under my eyes are now purple with bruising and fatigue. Scars cover my body from whips and handcuffs. My voice is hoarse from screaming and every muscle I have screams with pain right down to the fibers they’re composed of. Being a prisoner of the Capitol is by far the worst thing anyone could experience. It’s designed to break you; to change your perception of life and your memories become altered into false truths. The thing is, it’s next to impossible to break me. My district was burned to the ground and I know my parents are dead. So there’s no going back to whatever life I had after the Games. Both of them. The woman I’ve been in love with since day one, that girl on fire, is my enemy now. My love for her has disappeared into oblivion along with my past.

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