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This is The Capitol station, 99.1 in the Capital and 104.5 in the Districts.
My name's Chad Silver!
And I'm Brittany Gold! Today, we've got a very special program for you, isn't that right
Chad?
Right you are, Brittany!
And after the program, the weather and traffic, plus what does President Snow think about
the new mint fashion rage in the Capitol?
Sounds exciting Chad! Remember, you're turned in to 99.1 TCS!
The Reaping Journal -- a series of audio-dramas based on the characters from Suzanne Collins'
the Hunger Games trilogy.
Written and produced by Gil Segev.
Episode number 3: The Tribute.
Starring James Manning as Peeta Mellark.
Some kids, like the ones from the Seam, wake up to a rooster calling it's good mornings.
Others, mainly from the town, wake up to alarm clocks.
The mayor's daughter Madge probably had a fancy gold-plated one.
But me, I wake up to my mother screaming at me.
Get up, you good for nothing lazy boy!
There she is for you, my mother.
Lovely, isn't she?
She's standing where the door to my room should be, but there isn't one there of course.
She took down all the doors in the house after she caught my brother with the butcher's daughter.
Her brown hair has some flour in it, and the smell of fresh pastries drifts through the
floor.
If you're not up and clean in five minutes, I'm getting a bucket of cold water and pouring
it on your head!
After she walks away, I cling on to my dream.
It was about Katniss of course, like every night.
It's a little too graphic to talk about.
After I wash up with some cold water, I walk down the spiral stairs into the back part
of the bakery.
My dad's tending the big ovens, and my mother is probably at the front, even though I doubt
anybody will come on the morning of the Reaping.
Without as much as a good morning or a nod, my dad hands me some gloves and points towards
the giant mixer.
The recipe for sour-dough bread is posted on the wall behind the mixer, but I've made
it so many times that I don't even have to look at it.
In goes the flour, the salt, the water, the yeast...
Soon the batter is all mixed up and is poured into the black metal pans, ready to go into
the oven.
My dad takes them from me.
There's an order for a birthday cake on the bulletin.
I find the order, and sigh when I see that it's just another classic birthday cake.
The people in the Seam always order it, because it's the most chocolate for the lowest price.
I take the cake base and scoop butter-cream frosting into a piping bag.
Then I smooth it out with a spatula, and finish with piped balloons on the top and the name
of the girl whose birthday it must be.
Peeta! Stop dilly-dallying and get to the front.
I'm going to get some more flour.
I'm excited that I can finally work the cash-register.
My mom's always there, scaring away the few costumers we have these days.
I hang my apron on the hook and watch my mom disappear down the road.
God, I hope she gets run over.
A few minutes later a young boy comes into the bakery.
He looks nervous, probably wondering if my mom's here.
Hey.
Um, hi. Can I... how much for a cookie?
I can see that the boy is from the Seam, that he's never bought anything as expensive as
a cookie.
They're two dollars each.
So, I'll have one. Can you... can you do a costume frosting?
Of course. What of?
Um, some primroses.
Is it for a special someone?
Um, yeah. I mean, yes. It's for my... girlfriend.
Primrose Everdeen.
I look at the boy -- he can't be older than eleven or twelve.
And yet he's going out with the sister of the girl I've crushed on for so many years.
After I frost the cookie and put it in a paper bag, the boy reaches out his coins to pay.
I know that this girl must be as special as her sister if the boy's spending money on
a gift for her.
Most Seam boys give other kinds of gifts, if you know what I mean.
The girl arrives around ten minutes later, and they begin to talk.
I have to busy myself by cleaning the counter so that I don't stare too much.
Then an odd looking woman comes in.
She has pink hair, and a green velvet suit that can't be natural...
You're Effie Trinket, right?
Yes, darling. I'd like three croissants, please. And straighten your shirt, it's crooked.
After I give her the bag, she begins to walk out.
Then she turns around and wishes me and the boy and girl good luck in the Reaping.
As if she cares.
My mom comes back way too soon, and barks at me to go to the back, see what's taking
'My old man' so long to get those breads to the front.
I tie my apron back on and go to the back.
There's an awful lot of smoke, much more than usual...
Dad, do you smell something burning?
You know I can't smell, son.
I run past my dad to one of the ovens.
All those trays of sour-dough bread I put in earlier are blackened, with little tongues
of fire dancing on them.
I pull the glass cover open and douse the fire underneath the oven, looking at the charred
mess.
Peeta? What's that horrid smell... DIDYOU BURN THE BREAD?!
If you've never seen my mother when she's upset, then you don't know fear.
Her eyes darted between me, my father, and the burnt loaves.
I was at the front, and I thought dad was keeping an eye on them.
Don't you know you can't count on your father for anything?! Come here, boy!
My mother pulls a rolling pin from one of the tables, and whacks me on my right arm.
You'll get more the next time you mess up!
Fix this!
After she goes back to the front, my dad gets me to put my arm in a bucket of cold water.
Luckily, there's no bruise.
I spot a squirrel on one of the tables, and know that my dad must have gotten it from
Gale.
Nobody else can kill such a small animal so cleanly.
I pray with all my heart that today Effie Trinket will pick my name out of the big glass
ball.
The Hunger Games can't be worse than my mother.
This has been The Reaping Journal, on the Capitol station 99.1.
Tune in next time for another eye-opening behind-the-scenes session of the making of
this glorious country's most thrilling event.
My name's Chad Silver, wishing you a good day.