A/N: I had not planned on writing any Hunger Games fanfiction. But, Haymitch is so stubborn. He simply will not leave me alone. This is for Geth's Destruction Challenge. I hope you like it!
He is slowly drowning in it, the bitter, clear liquid. He revels in the burn on his throat, though it isn't nearly as bad as it used to be. He basks in the glory of its haze inducing venom. It's addicting, this feeling, this relief. It is the one thing that keeps him sane.
But now, even with so much alcohol coursing through his veins, there is a nagging voice in the back of his mind. He isn't sure, exactly, who the voice belongs to. Maybe it isn't real. No, he does not believe that. Somehow he knows, somehow he can tell that it's real.
He remembers a bathroom. Then the voice. "You're destroying your liver, you know," it had said. Then later, much quieter, almost as an afterthought it adds, "You're killing yourself."
It is only the second part that is troubling him. He doesn't care much for his liver. It seems so distant and foreign to him. He doesn't even know what it looks like. But death is something he knows. It is something he is much too familiar with. Death has been such a constant in his life he could almost call it a friend. The sick, twisted, cruel kind of friend. The backstabbing kind. As a victor of The Games death and killing have haunted him for twenty-four years.
The only thing keeping him sane is also the thing that is killing him. You may as well add one more name to his kill list. Haymitch Abernathy. There will be no survivor of the 50th Hunger Games.
