Just to mention...this is extremely experimental. I was thinking about everything Haymitch went through in his games, and how he was essentially completely alone afterwards. He went to the Capitol every year for the Games to mentor, the children died, and he went back home completely alone. So in all that lonesomeness and with all the bad memories, how did he stay sane? We could look at him and say that he wasn't sane, but he wasn't completely off his rocker either.
So I came up with this idea for him to have someone to talk to. Afterall, what better way for Haymitch to stay sane than to write letters to a dead girl? I think it fits him.
Consider it a character study. =]
It's only been a few days since the Games ended. They tell me that I can return to District 12, and that I will be able to live life very similar to how I did before, just better. They tell me that I will always have enough food for myself as well as my family. They tell me that my family can move to the Victors' Village with me, and so I will still be able to live with them. But I know that things will never be the same.
They tell me that I will get to make yearly trips to the Capitol as though it's a good thing. As though this is something I would want. As though it's a treat. But it's not some sort of treat. Sure, it's sugar coated and wrapped in brightly colored wrapping like some sort of sweet. But it's not. Because underneath, it's a corrupt and murderous place.
Does no one realize that their Capitol, the place that they look up to and are willingly ruled by, murders children every year? How can everyone in that place be so blind?
But I'm working myself up, Maysilee, and I've also been told that that is something I must not do. They talked to me on the train ride home Maysilee. They reassured me that I can live normally as I always have, only better, and they told me to stay calm.
How am I supposed to stay calm after what has happened? How am I supposed to stay calm after I have been forced to murder, after I had to watch you die...
This is one of those things they would tell me not to think about.
I must be going insane. Why else would I be writing a letter to a dead girl? You can't read this. You will never read this, because I was too late. I was too late to save you.
I was too late to save you...