Disclaimer: If I was as drunk as Haymitch, then MAYBE I would be dumb enough to say I owned the Hunger Games. But I am quite sober at the moment, thank you very much.
Horror rooted Haymitch's feet to the spot as he looked upon the mangled body of Maysilee Donner, her breaths getting more shallow with each intake of air. A steady stream of blood was gushing from her neck, courtesy of the killer birds, and it was clear that she had only minutes, if that, left to live.
Once the initial shock of the scene before him wore off, Haymitch's legs began to function again. He numbly approached the girl as if on auto-pilot, his knees giving way the moment he reached her side.
Maysilee smiled faintly as she turned her head towards his. "I knew you'd come back." She was so weak, the sound was barely more than a whisper.
Haymitch thought of telling her not to talk in order to save her energy. But she knew as well as he did that she wasn't going to make it, and the sooner she was free from this wretched place, the better.
So he slipped his large hand around her slender one, prepared to stay with her until the end. They remained silent in this way for several minutes, but when her breath became reduced to short bursts of air he chose to speak.
"I'll live through this for the both of us," he said. "I'll make them pay, Maysilee. I promise."
To the millions of spectators watching from their television sets, the statement indicated that he was plotting revenge on the remaining tributes. But they weren't whom Haymitch was referring to.
Maysilee's gaze found his face, and she simply smiled. Then her eyes slowly shut, her body never looking more at peace since the reaping.
Haymitch didn't move until the cannon fired.
After taking the hand he was holding and placing it gently over its partner on her stomach, he rose and turned to leave. He didn't look back once while he walked away; not when he heard the hovercraft approaching, not when he heard the tube descending down, not when it rose once again and carried away the closest thing he had to a friend in this damn arena. He just stared straight ahead, his face even more hardened than before, his eyes cold and without mercy.
Never before had he possessed such a strong desire to win the Games. Not only for Maysilee, but also those he left behind in District Twelve: his mother, younger brother Lionel... and Tanya.
His mind chose to focus on the final of these. Tanya, with the long black hair and a smile so gorgeous it was a shame it hardly ever presented itself. Tanya, who despite bearing an exterior stiffened from hardship, occasionally revealed a softer side that Haymitch had grown to love. Tanya, his girlfriend who ever since he said good-bye to her before leaving for almost certain death he couldn't bring himself to think about until now, though he wasn't sure why that was.
A picture of Maysilee suddenly sprang to mind, pushing Tanya to the side. The memory was from one of the few patches of light from these last few weeks, when she laughed at a cutting remark he made of their ridiculous mining outfits for the Opening Ceremonies. But Haymitch was prompt to shove thoughts of either girl from his head.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the arena, the place where he had discovered a very curious thing concerning a force field, all that was on his mind was the other three tributes, planning on how they were going to die. It was useless to dwell on who he had already lost when he needed to focus on getting back to those who might still lose him.
What's this? A T-rated fic from me? Shocking. This will either be three or four chapters, and I'll try to get them out relatively quickly. Hope you like it so far!