Uh...I wrote. Late. So I think I switched between path and present tense multiple times. But you know, I really find Haymitch to be an interesting character. So embrace the senseless symbolism..
Everything is broken down. Categorized, systematized; ordered, perfected. It's the way of Panem- to keep things from becoming chaotic. The way of fighting- to stay alive. The way of the world- to see the line.
Oh, and he will. He'll embrace the line between live and death. Sanity and insanity. Black and white...but as for everything in between, he'll just try to ignore it.
Because Green meant life. Because green meant he could find food. Because green meant summer, and summer meant warmth, and warmth meant one less discomfort- green was his friend in the monochrome world. But he was betrayed. Green obscured his view and clawed him to the ground. Green patronized him as he stumbled.
Green became red.
Blue gave him something to look forward to. Blue meant freedom and an open sky, full of possibility. Blue was also the difference between black and white, life and death, when he stumbled upon a stream. No- blue was life...the life he strives for. But it was ripped from his grasp.
Blue always dries.
Yellow...well. He never actually liked yellow. It was flaunty and superficial. Oh, but when his little brother lays out, laughing in wonder at its warmth, it was real. So real, that he could watch him for hours, while he momentarily forgot the hunger. But never real enough to grasp hard enough before it left- night always came...winter always came. And then it was a lie again.
Yellow abandons him.
He didn't like Purple either, because it was girly, and though was a lot of things, but girly was not one of them. But purple also meant the little moments, and it is peaceful. So very peaceful in the patch of lilacs...he never had to leave. Never lift his head again. Even in the shadow of that horrible knife in the horrible child's hand. All he wanted was to forget it all.
Purple lies.
Brown is a hard thing to define. Because it's dirt, and he did not like dirt. Dirt gets everywhere, and dirt gets pounded into his teeth when he fights, and dirt is what he walks on. But when he is walked on, every day, he hates dirt even more.
He is dirt brown.
Red is everywhere. He sees red where there is none- it stains his vision like a never ending curse. Maybe because he looked it in the eye. He wasn't watching her bear down on him, axe ready to secure victory. He wasn't seeing her eyes, but Death's. It was a trade. He lived to see another day, but never again would anything lose the crimson tint.
Red taunted him.
White he hates the most. White is cold and painful. White Snow rips everything away- laughter and love, and those who held it. Black haunts him- a resignation to what should be, but never was. With life and death and where he stands now, in between.
White is death. Black is pure.
Grey...is. It just is. Life, the world around him, the eyes he sees everyday- all of it, the same lifeless grey. But he likes grey. Because doesn't change. It's natural. And nothing else good comes when it does change. He knows that, now. He knows that he shouldn't play with color where no color should exist. Because Green and Blue, Red and everything else just torments him- that is why he blocks out the world around him. He won't see anything- oh, no. He'll live in a blurred, confusing state where no color can ever touch him again.
Grey is life.