Chapter Text
Peeta stumbled to the gravelly ground, taking the full force of the beating. Nobly, he dared to look his mother in the eye, unfazed by the wooden rolling pin's blow. Her own were brimming with hatred and glistening with wrath for her son. But strangely, Peeta hadn't even felt a thing. The only proof of a welt was the deep groove on the side of his forehead, now dripping with blood like a faulty tap.
This kept going on for what felt like days to Peeta. Insult, hit, remark, insult, hit, remark.
Suddenly, Peeta's dad was bursting the back door open with a bird on his shoulder, knocking his wife unconscious. Glancing at the bird suspiciously, Peeta sent his father a look of incomprehension.
"Go, Peeta! Head for the loop in the Capitol, the mockingjay will take you there. I'll look after your brothers, make sure your mother doesn't hurt them! Good luck and goodbye for now, my son, stay safe!"
The mockingjay, Peeta assumed, was the bird, which leaped from it's perched position and took flight. It continued flying, down the road, through the nearby park and landed in a little abandoned shed. Peeta followed and continued to sprint until the mockingjay came to a halt. Once they were inside, it signalled that Peeta must lock the door. Watching the bird intently, Peeta didn't take his eyes off it as it's beak morphed into a pointed nose, flat, feathered head growing inches of luscious custard curls, maroon feathers merging into a brown tweed coat and matching dress.
"Good afternoon, Peeta. I've heard you're quite the charmer. Now do you fancy a ride?"
Miss Mockingjay opened and unlocked the door, only to find a small motorcycle and a pair of helmets. Peeta's gape deepened, so that his mouth could also substitute for one of those fancy fair games, where you throw a ball into a bucket, or in this case, mouth.
The woman merely smirked. "What are you waiting for? Hop on!"