A/N: For those who don't know about Haymitch's Games, he was reaped during the 50th Hunger Games, or the 2nd Quarter Quell. 48 Tributes were chosen. Only 1 Victor came out alive.
Haymitch watches as smoke curls up from the small fire and dissipates into the sky. He tosses another small stick into the greedy flames and watches it set into a skeleton of black ashes. The meadow around him stretches out for miles and miles in gently rolling hills filled with flowers. Blushing shades of pink curve their way across the wide expanse of sky in sweeping lines.
It is hauntingly lovely here. He has seen more beauty in his time in the Arena than all the beauty combined in the Seam, but it is a mocking juxtaposition, a reminder of the fact that his time left to see such beauty has been ticking down since his name was drawn at the Reaping.
For the first time, he allows his thoughts to drift to his family. How many mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and lovers like his are waiting at home, hoping against hope? Did they cry, like his mother did, when a name was read from a delicate slip of paper? His mother had clutched him to her chest, rocked him fiercely, with hot tears flowing down her cheeks and dampening his hair. Come back to me, she had said. He hadn't said anything in return.
He wonders about the others from the Seam. How is Landers doing, the slim boy with the dark eyes, alone in the wilderness for the first time in his life? Had Alma, who had died on the first day, pierced by a blade through her heart, gone quickly? Or had she scrabbled vainly with the knife in her chest with bloody hands before rasping out her last breath? And Maysilee. The enigmatic girl with the long blond hair and the fathomless eyes. He hopes that she hadn't died yet.
He wonders how many other tributes are watching the skies right now. Are they all sharpening their weapons and steeling their minds for what is to come? Or maybe, is that girl from 5 with the wistful eyes, or the boy from 9 with the keen gaze, are they watching the skies too? Are they waiting for the first star that will flare to life, so they can make a wish? Haymitch knows that there is only one thing any of them would wish for. But the thing is, there will only be one first star tonight.
He wonders, idly, about what might have been. If the plump girl from 7 had always dreamed of being a mother, if the boy from four had a sweetheart at home. If he could return, he would feed his family, he would marry Elika. They could set up house in the Victor's Village and he would be the hero of District 12. He could get them food and clothing and save them from starvation. There would be children in his future, a little boy he would roughhouse with and a little girl he would spoil. A sharp pain pierces Haymitch's heart, because in an instant it's like he can see it, his entire life spinning out in front of him in glorious triumph. But there are forty-seven others, who not long ago, dreamed many of the same dreams. And in the end, there would be only one who would make their dreams become reality.
He wonders if there are scientists and artists and musicians and rebels trapped in this arena that would have been created some magical pill so no one got hungry, or some bread that would never go stale, or some beauty that could take away pain. He wonders if there is a rebel somewhere in this arena that would have someday gone against the capitol, if they had gotten the chance.
He wonders if they could have changed the world. Perhaps, they could have changed the world.
And then he wonders how many cannons will sound tonight.
A/N: Please be kind, review.