From The Other Side Chapter 1: Haze, a hunger games fanfic

I wake up around noon. No sooner than when I wake up that I realize my head is pounding. I've got a mean hangover. No matter. I go down to the fridge, get another drink, and toss it back. Ah, that's better.

I go and dress in a set of nice clothes, for a change. I can remember that it's Reaping Day. Not much else beyond that. After I'm dressed, I take a seat nearby the door, and toss back some more drinks. Everyone thinks I drink just because I can, but they're wrong. I don't drink for pleasure. I drink to forget.

He lies there, facing up. Woods surround us; we are alone as far as I can tell. The inky blackness of the sky is above us. The boy says to me, "Please! You don't have to do this!"

He begins to crawl away; he's already wounded and can't get up; I can see the fear in his eyes by the light of the fire he had so unwisely built. Why is he so afraid of me? I'm not that much of a monster, am I?

I reply to him and say, "Oh, but I do." The punishment from the Gamemakers would be swift if I left him be. With that, I thrust my knife downward into his chest. Blood runs out of his body, and he goes motionless. The cannon sounds. With that, I walk away, the tears flowing from my eyes.

I'm raised from my drunken, dreaming stupor by someone shaken me roughly. It's my regular chariot driver, Kai. Kai says, "Mr. Abernathy! You must get up! You're already late for the Reaping!"

Oh, right. The Reaping. Like I care. It's the same every year. Every year, two scared, hopeless kids are selected. I try not to become attached to them, but I can never help myself. A part of me always reaches out to them every year. And every year when they die, a part of me dies as well. It never ends.

Kai helps me out to the chariot. I guess I'm pretty drunk. When we reach the District 12 square, I can see the Reaping is already underway.

The mayor is just announcing the District 12 victors of previous Hunger Games. Hey! That's me. I run up to the stage and shout out "Hey, don't forget me!" Though maybe it comes out as "Ey, da fogee muh!"

I don't understand what's happening now; my brain is becoming more clouded by the second. Some subconscious part of my mind is telling me it's because I'm drunk but my primary consciousness is not listening. The crowd is clapping, all these bright lights…I can't take it. Wait, there's someone to hug! No, she pushes me away. I fall back into my chair, and try to adjust to this new scenery. It's hard, that's for sure.

Oh, a name has been called. A scared little girl comes up onstage. But then, wait! Another girl rushes up and throws herself in front of the first girl. What? This bigger girl is volunteering! We haven't had a volunteer in a long time. This girl reminds me of me…

I was looking forward to the Games. At eighteen, I was in peak physical shape. I had practiced as much as I could, preparing for the Games. I was great with a knife, and strong too. So when Reaping day came for me, I said at the right time, "My name is Haymitch Abernathy and I volunteer as male tribute for District 12."

This was met with stunned silence from the crowd. I knew what they were thinking, why would someone ever want to volunteer? Volunteering means certain death. But I knew better. If I won, I would be set for life. I would never ever have to worry about food again, my younger brother and parents would be just fine, and I would be filled with joy and a sense of accomplishment for the rest of my life.

Man, was I ever wrong about that last part…

My primary drunken mind takes back over. The young girl is being pulled offstage by an older boy. And now the girl who has volunteered is standing here? Her name is Catno. Catnip? Katniss? I don't know, but she deserves congratulations.

I go over to her, and throw my arm around her. I say, "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her!" She recoils. What am I doing wrong? "Lots of…spunk!" I holler out. And I am suddenly seized by my hatred of the Capitol. I move to the front of the stage. "More than you! More than you!" I point into a camera. There you go, Mr. Capitol.

I keep walking though, and fall off the stage. My last thought before my head hits the ground is: "I wish I had another drink."

So should I continue...or is this a lost cause.

Other stories of mine: The Seventy Fifth Hunger Games, Sharp As A Knife, The Boy With The Bread, The Hunger Games Premiere.