Happy reading! Hope you enjoy this new story.
It has been six months.
It has been six months, and yet I still can feel the blood; sticky, hot, wet; it coats my bare hands, it drips soundlessly from the unstaunchable wounds. It has been six months, and I can still hear the cannon boom. And every night, I still watch my best friend die. Her blood oozes, turns into the ash that rains like snow, that covers me, turns into blood dripping off the axe that buries deep into Diamonds thick skull. I shiver through the cold, pushing my hands deeper into my pockets as I trudge through the snow that piles insurmountably around me, yet continues to drop in thick flurries from the sky. The white powder is untouched here, in the cemetery and for the first time I realize it's because only Merchant class, or someone like myself, can afford to bury people here.
I break through the sea of unencountered snow, feeling out of place. My shoes pinch my feet, having not yet worn them enough to break them in. The coat that hangs off my emaciated frame is too nice for Twelve, wool exterior and fur lined; rabbit or mink. I don't remember. I turn the knife I refuse to drop over and over in my pocket, sharp blade scratching the silky insides.
Their graves are made of a white stone, which is dull in comparison to the white that surrounds them. On one, two names; on the other, one. Her family never forgave me.
Evie had been not only the love of my life, but a good friend. After their deaths, of course, everything felt like a huge joke. Like I would awake one morning and I wouldn't live in the vacant village, heart pounding from nightmares so real I felt like I was there, in the Arena all over again. But, I wasn't; and it wasn't a dream. I'd wake up in the same musty house, in the same too big bed; vacant. Hollow. Alone. It was exactly what the Capitol, and above all, Snow, had wanted for me, after all. Isolation.
My family had been murdered only weeks after my return; after the camera's had faded and the country had moved onto better things. The story was that they were caught selling illegal goods out of their market front store. Evie had been an accident, an unfortunate incident where a Peacekeeper became too trigger happy. I brush a gloved hand over their graves, side-by-side in the barren yard. Snow falls off in sheets, it's icy tendrils laying over their still months fresh mounds. I kneel before them, not saying anything, but wishing in my heart that I had the words to. I can feel the corners of my eyes begin to sting with tears, but crying isn't an option. Not with the Tour beginning in just over an hour and my prep team and escort arriving so soon.
"Mitch," I recognize the voice but still start, hand going to my pocket. "Hey, hey. It's just me." James Everdeen lays a hand on my shoulder, and I look up to see brown leather and then his deep grey eyes boring into mine.
"Fuck, James." I say, standing to face my long-time friend. He looked different, somehow, in between saying goodbye to him before the Quell and coming back a man. Older, rougher perhaps. He and Maggie Neal, Maysilee's best friend, had gotten married, of course. Their house was deep in the Seam, close to the Meadow, but closer to the fence where James entered to hunt. Farther than ever from my home in the Village.
"Didn't expect to see you out before the Tour." he mutters. There's a moment of awkward silence before he pulls me into a strong hug. I clap him on the back before pulling away to face the graves again. "So, today's the day."
"Yeah." I reply, voice low.
"Maggie and I… we wanted to see you off. Are we on the list?" he pushes back from me, scanning the surrounding area with hunter's eyes.
"Yeah." I repeat. "'Course." I turn away from him, from the graves. From everything. "I gotta get back home."
I don't hear his reply; I leave before he can protest, footsteps lunging hard through the snow. I feel further from him than ever before.
"Oh! Darling, look at you. You're so skinny." says Veridia, gripping me by the arm. She sidles past me and into my home. I watch her flutter about listlessly as my stylist and prep team come streaming in. "And this house! Oh, how quaint." I scoff slightly, feeling ill-at-ease as Digit scowls at me.
"What?" I spit.
"Why are you so thin, Haymitch?" she cocks her head to the side before reaching forward suddenly; I tense up as she gently tugs on the brittle ends of my hair. "Did you do something to your hair?"
"It grew out, I s'pose." I reply, drawing away. She humphs, and the next hour of primping and prodding rushes by in a frenzy of furs and powders. Eventually I'm standing at the train station after a rushed interview on my "talent" for carving, which isn't as much of a talent as it is a way to keep my mind off the demons in the walls. I smile to the cameras, trying to look tall and less bleak, but feeling dead inside. I spot Maggie and James across the way, and they rush over to me just before I'm supposed to board; my smile grows strong and true, and as lonely and depressed as I am, I truly do miss my friends.
"We'll see you in two weeks, Mitch." whispers Maggie, clutching my hand tightly. Her bright eyes buzz with unsaid words. James leans in to hug me, hands patting my back gently.
"Try and keep sane." he whispers, and I laugh as if he's said something funny.
"Sure, sure." I board the train, not looking at anything, trying my hardest not to even look at the cameras. The train doors shut behind me, my prep team runs wildly about, preparing things as they should. I sit myself in a velvet chair in the bar car, the only quiet place on the train. There's no one to talk to his time; it's so hushed in this room, only the whir of the train, the chug of the wheels, and the clink of glass bottles against each other. I feel out of place here, even now in my Capitol clothing, at my most attractive. Beauty base zero, and build up from there! The voice of Miriam, the calmest and quietest of my prep team, still rings in my ear. Everything feels warped, as if tained by the lives of fifty people.
I shudder and close my eyes for a moment, concentrating on the rhythmic rocking of the train.
"Abernathy, hey." says a small voice in my ear. This voice is accompanied by a poke in the arm from a thin finger. I look up to see a shock of blonde hair and blue eyes leaning over me in my chair, where I sit, unmoving, in the bar car. I hadn't registered the feeling of falling asleep, but night looms outside, contrasting sharply to the white lights of the train. I squint against it, blinking sleep from my eyes.
"What?" I ask, voice barely audible. I'm still shaking from the Reaping. Maysilee, the girl - woman - standing over me, is the eldest of our group, having turned eighteen in late May, only two months prior to this sticky July. I, myself, was on the verge of seventeen, Annabelle Whitaker just thirteen, with Robert Young being, almost ironically, only just twelve within the past week. She stands back, a vision encompassing the fine life of a Merchant girl, hands plastered to her hips in dismay of my antisocial tendencies. Well, I'm not here to make friends. We were the only district left mentorless, the only Victor from 12 dying a few years before the Quell. This Quell. Our Quell.
"Well?" she says, as if I'm supposed to be aware of her intentions. There's a pause, pregnant with awkward silence, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"Yeah?" I reply after the moment had stretched too long.
"Are we gonna drink in here? Or are you gonna sit here and sulk like you do at school." she laughs humorlessly, a sharp chuckle accompanied by a smirk that cuts me wrong.
"Are… are we allowed to drink?" I ask feebly, looking towards the stoic man standing behind the bar.
"We're being shipped off to die for a game show, Little Mitchie, I think we can do whatever we damned well please."
My breath hitches at the memory; Maysilee may have played up the good and pure side of her prosperous childhood, but her wild streak was vivid and more than true around me. I open my eyes, training them on the Avox who stands just behind the bar. He's different somehow, the smirk on his face less pronounced, the eyes more forgiving.
"Can I get somethin'?" I ask, rising. The man gestures almost sarcastically to the drink filled bottles behind him, scorching me with a tremulous look. "Yeah, yeah, I see 'em. Gimme the strongest shit you got." He looks at me for a moment; eyes narrowing, as if sizing me up; his violet hair is striking against overly pronounced cheekbones and light yellow eyes. He pauses before reaching beneath the bar, pulling out an intricately decorated flask, and shoots me a wink as he passes it over the solid wood. I steel myself for the harsh burn of the first sip, but find the cool liquor sliding down my throat easily, leaving a warm trail all the way to my stomach.
"Thanks," I mutter, moving away. I can't sit here anymore; not with the memory of her first words to me plowing through my head. My fingers trace the delicate pattern etched into the silver front of the flask as I find my way to my compartment. It's also different somehow; I assume now that it will be every time I ride the train, Capitol fashion not stopping at the overdone clothes of my escort and prep-team. I wonder briefly when dinner will be, then sink onto the lush and large bed. My hands spread over the blanket, which is thick with some sort of downy feather, and decorated with intricate patterns that form some sort of flower. Too exhausted to pay attention, I toe my shoes off and slip under the blanket fully dressed, my eyes heavy from drink sliding shut without thought.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I count the blasts, my hand tucked tightly into Maysilee's as we crouch in the thick and tall grass. Robert and Annabelle sit a few feet away, sniveling. We'd known the Twelve had never come away from a bloodbath victorious, had run so far, so fast, and my chest ached. I was still tired and dizzy from lack of sleep, having tossed and turned in my bed all the night before until I'd drunk enough to make myself pass out; my hangover was a glorious reminder of that. Throbbing head, squinting eyes, the whole lot; Maysilee gave me a simpering look, one of pity but also of empathy. She was suffering from the same affliction.
"That's sixteen," I say quietly to the rest a moment after the cannon blasts had stopped.
"Who do you think is still out there?" whispers Robert, his voice grave and gravelly.
"Definitely the Careers," replies Maysilee, squeezing my hand before letting it drop from her grasp.
"You think it's safe to go to the Cornucopia yet?" Robert asks, moving closer.
"No," says Maysilee with that same bitter laugh I'd heard countless times on the train. "Best bet, we wait a day and then scope it out; Careers should have all the need before they have to search out food and water."
"What makes you think there won't be food and water in there?" I reply with a snarl.
"With forty-eight of us?" she sniggers again. "Fat chance Gamemakers would let anyone stay at the horn too long." Maysilee scoffs. "C'mon, let's get to the woods. It'll be safer there."
We move slowly, bent double to keep hidden by shoulder high grass. I can hear Annabelle's short breathing to prevent sobs from wracking her body. It grates on my nerves; I wish she'd just accept her fate already, as I had. Being Reaped second, after Robert's name had been called and we all still stood with bated breath, hut, yes. In any regular Hunger Games, we would've stood silent in the crowd, I would've gone home to my mother and Evie. James and Maggie would watch with hand clutched tight until the fateful moment their best friends death arrived. But instead I walk in a crouch behind Maysilee, eyes on the wide open space between the grass and the forest.
"Wait." says Maysilee, holding up a hand. I can tell she's thinking, can practically see the gears grinding in her head. She's scanning the forest, head shifting back and forth before she turns to me with wide, scared eyes. "Look. I aced that damned fauna test, and for good reason apparently. Maggie is my best friend, and… well, she practically runs that apothecary with her mom and James, right," she pauses to look at me for a moment, and I understand where this is going, "so I fucking better know a hell of a lot about the forest, the woods, and all that stupid plant shit." her voice lowers as she scans the children behind us. "Don't trust anything you see in there. Everything - and I mean everything - will either kill or cripple you. Plants, animals, whatever." I nod. "Did you guys hear what I said?"
I look back to the smaller members of our group to watch them shake their heads.
"Just be careful." says Maysilee through tight lips. "Very careful."
I wake with a start at a quick trio of raps on my door. "Haymitch! Get up!" comes the shrill voice of my escort. No longer my escort, my companion. "We let you sleep through dinner, but now it's time to eat. We're pulling into Eleven AT eleven," her chiming giggle rings through the steel of my door, "and you need to look your best." As if that matters. I have to look my best for the families of dead children, one of which I'd murdered; had cut her down in cold blood, without mercy. I rise from my bed, feeling the rain move to and fro as we hurtle down the track. I pay no mind to the state of my room, knowing an Avox would clean it while I am absent from it. I shed my clothing, leaving a trail all the way to the shower, where I step in while scratching my slightly grubby skin. I push the door to the shower open; it's pearly white tiled this time, and the buttons flash. I punch a carefully pathed pattern, water perfectly warm and soap lathered just enough. I scrub with a bristle brush until my skin is raw under it, and step out; my yell at the sight of the prep team standing before me echos through the room. Their grins widen at the sight of me stark naked.
"Beautiful." whispers Ophelia, eyes round.
"As always," whispers Hammy.
I cover myself with a towel despite their protests, and exit the confined quarters of the bathroom to the relative safety of my bedroom.
"Can you guys ease up on the whole… naked surprise shtick?" I ask, reaching for the flask I'd left beside my bed. "It was funny the first time, but not so much anymore." I watch them nod, these three Capitolites so pea-brained I could use tiny words and still confuse them. I hold the towel at my waist tighter as they grin.
"Well?" says Miriam, a pinkish woman with gold hair and very small hands. The word brings me back, yet again, to memories of Maysilee and our first exchange, and I practically slap Miriam across the face.
"Well, what?" I return, fist clutching tighter still to repress my want to scream at the whole lot of frivolous sissies.
"Well, let's get you ready!" Hammy practically squeals, his bronzed skin glittering in the false light.
"Right." Ready.
A/N: Alright, it's new. I know. It'll be an adjustment for me to write exclusively from Haymitch's point of view. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, because there will DEFINITELY be more to come.
Remember to follow me at .com, for updates about when I will be posting and sneak peeks at new chapters for all of my Hunger Games fics.
Favorite/follow/review if you enjoyed. It really helps my writing.
Happy Victory Tour. Get ready for a really intense flashback to Haymitch killing one of Eleven's tributes next chapter. Loves. ~B