Lemon Cake D12 FIN

Entry 101

This is Lem again. I'm only doing this because my parents want to see how much I actually remember of my childhood. I honestly think it's a stupid idea, but I'm being forced to do it. I just need to get it over with.

At the moment, I am 6 foot 4, weighing about 170 or so pounds. I just had my 18th birthday not to long ago, so I don't have to much more to go until I don't have to be reaped anymore. Then again, it might be better than living with the low lives I call my family in District 12.

I haven't always been with these freaks. I'm adapted, which is kind of easy to guess. My skin is darker than the rest of my family, even when they're tan. I wish my birth parents didn't leave me with them. They left me here when I was about 4, so I barely remember my actual parents. I don't even think I'm from District 12 originally. That's what I like to think. In my early years, I have memories of people rushing around constantly. Since I was so little to truly understand what I saw, I can't say exactly why. I could have just have had a large family, or they could have been really busy most of the time.

The next thing I know, I'm being dropped off at the local baker's house. I figured it was the baker's house because I'm living here right now. Of course, like most little kids my age (at this point I just turned 4), I thought my parents were going to come back and get me. I didn't really know the baker's children that well, but I got along with them well enough.  Before they left, they talked to the baker and his wife for the longest time. I think they talked about the adoption plan or whatever. I haven't really thought about it until a couple years ago.

As the day went on, I put my parents to the back of my mind, well, because my little brain wasn't focused on them. I wanted to play. For the first couple of hours or so, I had actual fun. The baker's kids showed me around, showed me their games and hiding places. I went along with them, and like I said, it was fun. I didn't do to well in the games at first, but once I got in the hang of things, I has a fantastic time. Now that I look back at them, they weren't that fun as I remember. Probably because I was a kid, and kids can have fun doing whatever.

As it turned dark, I realized my parents still haven't picked me up. Like how most little kids react, I got a little scared. I asked the baker when my parents were going to come back. He gave me this pitiful smile, replying "I don't know." Of course, I waited for while.

While I waited for my parents to show up, I heard voices of the baker and his wife talking about something. They seemed to be talking about something urgent. Their voices could be heard through the front screen door I was waiting behind. I head some bits and pieces of their conversation, picking out my name from time to time.

After a while, the baker came out and told me why my parents haven't picked me up yet. They explained how they got in trouble with the peacekeepers, and that they had to leave me with them, since my dad and the baker were really good friends. They don't know when they'd return, so they dropped me off here, with the Cake's. They trusted them to watch over me, just in case they won't come back at all. I didn't really know how to react. They brought me back in and offered me a glass of milk. I was flabbergasted. My parents? Taken by the Peacekeepers? Why?

For the next week or so, it felt like a funny dream. Nothing felt real. I know I was four, but I new that the Peacekeepers where the keepers of law, and my parents must have done something really bad to be taken away. I didn't want to accept it, though. I just wanted to wake up.

About a half a year later, I finally gave up hope that my parents were ever coming back. They can't. By then, I've gotten used to the customs of the bakery. I even started talking the last name of Cake. Since I couldn't do much due to my smallness, I just tried to stay out of the way, or do some of the simpler tasks. I got used to helping around the house and the bakery. It never actually felt like they were my actually family, though. They were too strange. They seemed too... different. I couldn't really describe it.

Around the time of when I was 10, I had this really bad dream. In the beginning, I was helping around in the bakery, doing my own thing. I was making some sort of cake for someone's birthday when all of a sudden, these people who looked a little like my parents, or what I think were my parents, rushed in and took me from the kitchen. I was fighting and kicking, but they told me to calm down. They told me some really weird secret to not tell anyone else. They said that the Cake's were Pyromaniacs. At the time, I didn't understand that word, nor did I really care. I went back to sleep and almost forgot about the dream. When I woke up again, I felt a strange desire for fire, to burn something.

One day, a few months later about when I turned 11, the baker decided to teach me how to use the the stove and oven and how to actually cook, since that's when he taught Pound (the oldest sibling in the family). I felt really happy because I was learning something that most of the rest of the household didn't know yet, and I wasn't even an actual family member! As soon as the baker set the stove on fire, the dream came back to me. I felt really happy at the sight of the fire, but I also wanted to ask the baker something."Are you a Pyromaniac?" What came next really surprised me. "Lemon, we're all Pyromaniacs. We just didn't want to tell you because we didn't want to freak you out."

I got a little tense, and got annoyed for some reason. How did I not know this? This is stupid! And how would it freak me out? I thought. How could they not tell me? I thought they were my family. Then again, I forgot I wasn't actually part of their family. But still, I got irritated. They should have told me earlier! I would have been perfectly fine.

Ever since then, I didn't trust my "family". I never really forgave the baker for not telling me earlier. They are liars. I shouldn't trusted.

For the next couple of years, I slowly stopped hanging out with them during my off time. A couple months ago, I got another job somewhere else, somewhere that pays me. Not that I don't like making cakes and other baked goods, it's just that I want money. That, and I need to find people I can actually trust.

Making friends, as I found out, was harder than it seemed. For some reason no one my age really seemed to like me. I don't know why. I followed the rules, did everything I was told to do. Then again, I didn't really like anyone, anyways. No one seemed to be like me. They were poorer and dirtier than I'm used to. I didn't really like it.

I eventually quit my job due to the fact I didn't really like the manager that much. Whenever I tried to give him tips on how to run the place, he just told me to focus more on my job. I always try to explain why it would work, but he kept on telling me he didn't need an explanation. He knew what he was doing. I gave up trying to help.

Now I'm back to where I started, the bakery. I help a lot more now, since I am able to do much more. I can cook and bake basically everything now. People are actually starting to tip me on my skills. It feels nice. But I still don't hang around that much. I don't really enjoy hanging around with them anymore. I still don't really trust them.