Well, this is Haymitch's POV of the hunger games... I've read a lot of stories like this, and I liked them. But reading wasn't enough. I just had to write one...ugh.

Enjoy!


Splash.

Something cold. There was something cold. That was all my cloudy mind could register at the moment.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Something trickled down my back. It tickled.

It was one of those life-sucking leeches in the games. I just knew it.

With a roar of fury, I sat up. The dagger was already in my hand.

"Go. Away!" I bellowed through my gritted teeth, slashing at whatever in sight. There was a squeal.

"Haymitch!" Somebody jumped away. She had a pink wig and her face was drowned in capitol makeup. Her high-heels thumped on the ground. I slowly stopped slashing and looked around.

I was at District Twelve. The Victor's house. Not the forest in the games.

My head hurt. My arm holding the dagger dropped onto the ground. Everything was too bright. It hurt my eyes.

"Put the blinds on." I slurred. "Let me sleep."

"Haymitch!" The person squealed again. The person. Effie. Effie Trinket. I blinked at her blearily. "It's the day of the reaping!"

The Reaping.

Those words were familiar. I didn't want to think about it. My head throbbed.

"What?"

Sighing, Effie grabbed my arm and tried to drag me up. Bad mistake. With a growl, I yanked my arm away.

Effie's face turned red with irritation. She stomped on the ground, and I winced. The sound was bad.

"It's the reaping day. You better get up now!" She shrieked in my ear. I groaned.

Whatever to get her to shut up. "Coming." I mumbled.


Five minutes later, I was standing in the crowd, leaning against a chair. People were shifting nervously. Of course. Today was the reaping.

Somebody up front was babbling on with the microphone. I resisted the urge to cover my ears.

"Somebody get me a drink." I muttered, staring at the ground. I wondered who this year's tributes were going to be. Probably just another two scrawny seam kids.

"Haymitch!" Somebody hisses. "Get ready!" I looked over to him.

He's holding a bottle. That's all I saw. Without asking, I snatched the bottle away from him and downed the contents.

Everything blurred. The man yelled at me, and I yelled back cheerfully. Here comes the light feathery feeling... the drifting... it's all coming now...

Who's that lady up front in the pink wig?

I stumble up to her. She looks annoyed. Did I care? I had no idea. I grinned happily.

"Uhn!" I took a step towards her, opening my arms. I squashed her against me and she squealed, pushing me off.

Somebody beckoned me over. I stumbled there. Oh! There's an empty chair. I sat down heavily on it.

"Let us welcome Effie Trinket!" Somebody said. Loud.

The lady in the pink wig went up the stage. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She squeals. The shrill sound hurt my ears. I groaned.

"It is an honor to be here today..." She droned on. I buried my head in my hands.

"Ladies first!"

My head lifted. I desperately wished for myself to just relax and go to sleep, but I couldn't. Something tells me that this is important.

I decide to trust my instincts. I always do. I look at the lady in the pink wig.

It's hard to concentrate. Everything is blurry. Black spots dance around in my vision, but I force myself to stare at the slip of paper in the lady's hand.

"Primrose Everdeen."


Now would be a good time to pass out, I thought to myself. Instead, I find myself waiting.

A little blond girl takes some stiff steps up the stairs. Blond. Why is she blond? That is unusual here.

She looks young. Probably twelve. She looks vulnerable.

She doesn't stand a chance.

I lean back into my chair, unsure of what I just thought. I didn't get it. Something is nagging on the back of my memory.

"Prim! Prim!" Somebody shrieks in the audience. A mourning family member, maybe. Oops.

"I volunteer!" The same voice gasps. "I volunteer!"

Volunteer. The word echoes around in my head. For some reason, I find myself craning my head to see who said that.

It's a girl. An older one. She shares some resemblance with the girl who's name was called, but this one looks lean and muscular. And she has brown hair instead of blond.

"Lovely!" There goes the shrill sound again. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um..."

The shrill sound trails off. My ears are pounding.

"What does it matter?" Somebody says gruffly.

Silence. "What does it matter?" He repeats. "Let her come forward."

A scream.

Then, "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

Ah, the mourning part.

"Prim, let go."

Murmuring.

Footsteps.

Silence.

I close my eyes.

"Well, bravo!" Pink wig lady shrieks into the microphone, and my eyes pop open. "That's the spirit of the games! What's your name?"

"Katniss Everdeen." A voice, hard. Steely, even. Closed off.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to out newest tribute!"

Silence.

Slowly, everyone moves. Not to bring their hands together and clap, but to bring three fingers from the left hand to their lips, then to the girl. The newest tribute.

I rose.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" I holler, throwing an arm around the girl's shoulders. She doesn't flinch. Good.

"I like her! Lots of..." I stop and think. Everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to continue. "Spunk!" I finish.

Slowly, I began to feel woozy. No. Not yet. I raise a finger and looked around for my target.

There. That camera. "More than you! More than you!"

I grin. Everyone is looking at me... why?

My face is on the screens. Capitol must be looking at me...

Slowly, I topple off the stage.


There! Well that turned out okay... I think. Remember, review and give suggestions!