He hears her scream and the broken alliance is forgotten.
He runs as fast as he possibly can, and then maybe even some more.
Just to prove them wrong.
That maybe, just maybe, a Seam boy can lovelovelove a Town girl.
But then the unthinkable happens.
He
is
too
late.
But not late enough to miss the long beaks thrust through her neck.
And he decides then and there, if he wins, it will be for her.
And when he does win, he's half dead.
The Capitol stitches him back up.
One thread at a time.
But they can't thread back up the memory of those darn pink birds.
And those long beaks.
And her neck.
Oh, god, her neck.
Bleeding onto that darn green grass.
The grass that somehow survived that darn volcano.
When he gets home, his mother is gone. His girl is gone.
There is nothing worth living for.
But he knows if he tries to die, the Capitol will just haul him straight back up again.
A cruel, cruel joke, after they tried to kill him in the Arena.
So he saunters into the dusty black market.
He slaps down eight coins.
He asks politely in that charismatic voice of his.
"Twenty bottles of your strongest white liquor, please."
Haymitch wasn't always like he is now. He used to have something worth living for.
Dedicated to Twix.