I did not want to hurt anyone.
I did not intend to be a murderer.
It started as a normal day not unlike any other. I still remember the warmth of the oven that I baked bread in. I was excited because there was a wrestling match at school today, and it's one of the few things I am not a pathetic disappointment at. My opponent was Jack Green, an acquaintance who was in the same class as me. It was supposed to be a clean match. We even shook hands beforehand as a gesture of mutual good will.
I did not intend to break his neck.
I have been locked in this cell for eight hours, and I still have not stopped crying. My eyes are sore, and the sleeves of my orange prisoner shirt are soaked through. The cell I am in is damp and cold, but I do not notice either of these things beyond shivering as I cry. I wish they would just put a bullet in the back of my head and get it over with!
It's not like I have anything to live for: my own mother has been telling me for years that she does not love me and that nobody will miss me if I die. I could not even muster up the courage to tell Katniss that I have always been in love with her. Probably for the best: there is no way anyone would ever want to marry me. No woman wants to marry a pathetic weakling, and certainly not one with blood on his hands.
Not that it matters; in a few hours one of the peacekeepers is going to execute me and everything will be over.
I can already hear his footsteps as he walks down the hallway. Soon he will lead me to the stage where I will get my brains blown out in front of a cheering crowd.
This is how it ends.
A Peacekeeper leads me to a room where. I guess this is where they will put a bullet in my skull.
"Undress." I do not know what to expect when the Peacekeeper says this, and I am paralyzed with fear.
"I said Undress." Without telling them to do so, my,arms begin to take off my orange prisoner clothes.
A doctor walks in. He prods and examines me for some unknown purpose, asking me questions about my health. I am able to whimper out answers, but I do now know the purpose of all this. My answers come out in stutters because of both fear and cold.
"How old are you?"
"Are you married or betrothed?"
"Okey. Do you consume alcohol or other hazardous substances?"
"Okey. How many people have you had sex with?"
"Do you have any disabilities like asthma?
I am a little bothered by the peacekeepers seeing me this way and by the personal nature of the questions the doctor is asking, but not nearly as bothered as I am by the coldness of the room. Now my shivering is out of control. Next one of them uses a syringe to take blood out of my arm, and I am told to wait in this room.
"Put your clothes on and wait in here." They say this as they leave and lock the door behind me.
I put my clothes back on, and I wait for the end.
Authors Note: As you can see, Peeta Mellark is and always has been a paragon of self esteem.