There is nothing pretty here anymore.
I like pretty things, no use in denying it. I'd like to say I wasn't always this way, but that would be a lie. There was a time, I think, that I was content with District 12. I was better off than most and not much worse than some. Merchant class was well enough, not as posh as in other Districts but still you always had food and new clothes once a year. And you had a bit of a position…there were opportunities, opportunities you wouldn't have had if you looked half-starved and your clothes were rags. No one wants to see that, right?
My job in service at the Mayor's house suited me well enough. Not enough call in the dressmaker's trade for me to help in my father's shop, but I was well placed enough to earn a position on the Mayor's wait staff. At 16 I was good enough to wait table. We rarely had anyone worth putting on the big show for, but by odd chance President Snow had decided to do a good will tour of the Districts, complete with entourage. We were all aflutter, not the least because our one and only Victor would be a guest that night. He was ridiculous, and always drunk, and the source of endless gossip in what passed for life in District 12.
I was sixteen. I had never been Reaped. The little thought I gave Haymitch Abernathy amounted to "Pheh. If only he could appreciate how lucky he is."
That was the night he saved my life.