The Reaping of Haymitch Abernathy by Xandergates
Hey guyyyyyyss, this was my first fanfic, and to be honest after reading through it after a couple of months of starting it, it was kinda disappointing. The writing style, the spelling mistakes and some references was a bit off. Having doubts whether or not to continue I decided that I should re-master it and now…. hopefully it is much more adequate! Enjoy!
The train moves past District 8 and into 7 as night-dark trees invade the planes of the District's boarder. Though going 200mph, you can't feel a thing. Capitol Technology no less. I stare out of my window watching as the woodland structures continued to openly disappear only seconds after merely an appearance. The moon was still on stage, illuminating the night sky. My eyes heavily blinked as many attempts of sleep had evidently caused fatigue but no where near slumber.
Sleep in my books can only be eased by a little night cap, or as everyone knows, by the Capitol's finest whiskey. My decision was made. I manage to get up from the fur coated duvet slinging my knife on the dark blue bed-side table not caring if I chipped away some of the glass structure. I leave my compartment avoiding crashing into bottle after bottle, empty bottles. So much for sobriety.
As I enter the living area expecting it to be dark and empty especially after these hours, I orientate myself from the clouded tipsiness of the previous encounter with drink and see two figures in the room. Sitting on the Midnight blue sofa looking up at the wall that shines light above their heads, their backs are towards me and their eyes hungrily memorising every movement on the screen.
I watch them together on the couch glaring at the Capitol television. "The Girl on Fire" and "The Boy with the Bread". After having nightmares she cried and said she did know him, in another life. In a life we all lost. He tossed her some bread when her family starved. So that explains the name. They watch the screen as tributes became Victors and listen to the ever knowing sadistic roar of The Capitol; their cheers however blinded by one child's death that means another's survival.
On the screen, the dark skinned Victor with cropped black hair stands with a bloodied knife in his right hand, his other hand only connected to his wrist by a few blood vessels. The Victor was lanky however tall, much the same with his the other tribute from District 2 however he was more built. With biceps the same size as his own head, pale skin and with a wound bearing across his chest to his right lower side, his face pristine without a scratch. A carrier none the less, trained in combat in a special academy and later volunteers to hopefully win and enjoy the riches the Capitol has to offer for their homicide. The memories from the last Hunger Games overshadow my eyes from the television for a second. The boy from 2, Cato, to say the least he was a murderous arrogant fool, but none the less he was a child poisoned by the Capitol. He didn't deserve it; none of us did.
The Victor could be no one else but Chaff, the same Chaff who won The 45th Hunger Games, who did not accept the Capitol's hand prosthetic once winning, who came from 11 and helped Thresh and Rue in training. We drank to sleep and forget, but the nightmares are always awake, no weapon could ever save us from it. Chaff, a good friend, always seemed like a trouble maker with both dark and light hearted jokes but his demeanour displayed on the screen was unrecognisable: scared, exhausted and remorseful. Not glad, no one was ever glad. Despite the games we played had ended, there are no winners, only survivors. In a sense the games never really did end.
She lays her head on his chest whilst he crosses his arms over her shoulders, protecting her. The pieces of Snow's games, the "Star Cross lovers" are not the people I see in front of me. The people I see in front of me are children, the coal mining District's Victors, who defied the Capitol; who made Snow seem weak and stupid.
The revolution is starting. The thought of it makes my chest heave, I am the one they can trust, the only one who understands the pain that screams every time I close my eyes, and now betrayal is our only hope.
Being lifted from my thoughts, I notice that the screen of the television had turned white and empty as the boy gets out another tape. They were muttering before hand, quite hesitantly. Ignoring them, I walk across the mahogany dining table thanking the freshly hovered navy carpet that mutes the sound of my feet walking and swing a glass in my left hand whilst I hold the drink in the other. I make my way to the exit when something catches my eye.
The daunting memory that is translucent before my blonde hair, lingers on the screen above us. A dark curly haired boy with bright Seam grey eyes was staring back at me emotionless. His eyes burn with hatred and fear as his lastly reaped served him his death sentence. He was young and strong but not strong enough; little did he know he was going to win the games.
My younger self.
I felt a shiver as I see the four of us in a line standing on the stage of the Justice building and in front of our people, for The Second Quarter Quell. As it was the 50th anniversary they reaped 24 more tributes; 47 deaths that would occur as they crown one Victor.
Peeta and Katniss start talking about the girl the one on the far right as I stand on the far left, the merchant's daughter. First to be reaped and torn away from her twin. I couldn't save her. Haunting my dreams and pleading me to end the pain, her screams pierces my hearing as she cried out my name; soft tears falling as I lie and tell her It's okay while she sleeps for the last time.
"Oh. Peeta you don't think he killed Maysilee. Do you ?" Katniss said consciously, pulling me away from my thoughts. This only made my chest feel tighter. I put the glass and the bottle of drink on the table silently, and lower myself unknowingly onto a slumped chair at the far end of the room near the wall. My chest still tight, the feeling of grief grows sweeping into my mind as I feel my hands trembling. Trying to hold back aching unshed tears from my eyes, it comes back. I remember when it happened, when it all started, the day my family and my girl lost me and the day when I lost them.