Hello all, yes it's me again. This is a story I came up with last week while I was exceptionally bored while stuck somewhere for hours. There are about ten chapters and I've finished writing the first draft of all the chapters.
Chapter 1: The New Neighbour
Over the past two years, Haymitch Abernathy had learnt to keep quiet.
Admitting that he was a writer often invited odd looks. Couple that with his now slightly unkempt appearance – wrinkled clothes that needed washing and sometimes, unshaven beard – people tended to assume that he lived alone and was a recluse, which he is. Or if they knew his history, then they assumed he was ridden by guilt and dealing with it by writing. That also happened to be partially true.
So he stopped. There was no longer any quiet mumbling under his breath that he was in the middle of writing a book or that yes, he had stopped writing children's books. He couldn't muster the innocence needed to write for that target audience.
It had gotten tiresome to deal with the sympathetic look on people's face when he gruffly admitted that he was dry of inspiration. Not telling people about his writing seemed to be the easiest solution. In any case, he did not feel entitled to the term any longer.
Writer, he scoffed.
He had not managed to write anything for the past two years. It didn't mean he didn't try. He tried, and sometimes he tried too hard even though he knew nothing good would come out from him trying to force himself to it. The things he came up with felt juvenile, forced and inauthentic. His work did not feel genuine to him and if it didn't feel like it came from him, his readers would know that too. Readers could always tell.
There were scribbles of mindless plot that led to nowhere. He supposed he could expand on it but he couldn't find the will to do so.
There were also half-thought out characters that were never fully developed. But the characters that he had developed and fleshed out well, he was rather fond of, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. It was easier to him to write characters lately. He felt a strange bond to them which at times, he thought was a troubled sign. He should get out more and socialise.
There were also names in fictional places that his mind conjured up that despite his best efforts, he could not fit into anything at the moment. He was sure that one day, it would all make sense to him – the plot, the characters, their moral dilemma – but today was not that day.
Hauling himself to his feet from the sunken armchair, Haymitch kicked the bottle on the floor that was blocking his path. It rolled under the sofa. He would need to restock which meant that he would have to do the tedious task of going into the town centre.
Haymitch peered out of the window to check if the weather was good. The snow had begun to melt and for a brief second, he thought twice about stepping out of the house.
Then something twinkled out of the top corner of his window.
It was the glint from the sunlight hitting the metal plate of a truck that was currently driving down the small road towards the Village.
Haymitch watched.
He could count on one hand the number of times visitors actually wandered into the Village in a year. To him, this was definitely something to be curious about, so much so that he actually stepped out of his house to stand by the porch.
The truck came to a stop in front of one of the houses – the one right next to his to be specific. The frown on his face deepened.
He had not had a neighbour for nearly two decades and he was not sure he welcomed the change.
A young man with a head full of blond hair stepped out of the truck. He caught sight of Haymitch and raised his hand in greeting with a smile on his face. He had kind blue eyes and Haymitch gave a curt nod in response. On the passenger side, the door swung open. This time, a black-haired female jumped down. She threw a wary glance in Haymitch's direction but unlike her companion, she did not deem it necessary to greet him.
Not wanting to seem intrusive or too curious, Haymitch went back inside and chose a seat by the window. He couldn't take his eyes off the girl's braid and the gold accessory that was pinned to the tail of her braid. From this distance, he couldn't really tell what it was but he thought it resembled a bird.
They stood in front of the house which Haymitch now assumed to be theirs. The young man slipped his hand into the girl's and with an encouraging smile, led her up the steps of the porch.
No one had moved into the Village for years. He was the sole occupant and frankly, he wasn't sure what would make a young couple choose this place in particular.
He decided, as he relocated to the kitchen scrounging for leftover liquor from bottles in the cupboard, that if they stayed out of his way then he would keep out of theirs.
For days following that, Haymitch heard the couple moving things from the truck and into their new house. He heard footsteps, the door opening and closing, things crashing onto the floor when someone dropped a box, and the rise and fall of inaudible voices talking to each other. On the third day, he smelt the sweet fragrance of freshly baked bread wafting in next door and that continued every morning.
The signs of life were too difficult to ignore.
Despite that, they did not bother him. They had not knocked on his door to introduce themselves, probably still busy unpacking and adjusting, and that suited him just fine.
Except for one small problem. Ever since he saw them, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was bothering him.
There was something oddly familiar about those two that he couldn't quite figure out. The braid and the pin… He kept seeing it. It was like a splinter on his finger. He was aware that it was there but despite trying, was unable to pull it out to ease himself.
Without a thought, Haymitch wandered closer to his door. Nowadays, he was beginning to feel like a creeper. He had been watching them on and off to a point that he knew the boy had left in the morning, presumably to head to town.
He was walking home now, Haymitch noted.
He spied the canvas tucked under the young man's arm and the paint brushes poking out of the paper bag. Haymitch blinked, feeling ill at ease.
He paints.
And, he knew it was the boy who did all the baking. Haymitch had seen him rushing out of the house with his hands covered in flour that one time when he had heard a yelp from the woman.
He bakes, too.
Haymitch knew him. He knew with every fibre of his being that he knew this young man.
Of course, that was impossible since he had never seen him or the girl in his life before. Tired of speculating and thinking about his new neighbour, Haymitch grabbed a bottle from his recently stocked cupboard and drank until the moon greeted the sun, and until he passed out.
When he woke up the next morning, it was to a pounding headache and a parched mouth. Haymitch staggered towards the kitchen, drinking straight from the tap.
His kitchen window overlooked his backyard and into the edge of the woods. From there, he could also see a portion of his neighbour's backyard.
The girl came into view. She was wearing a leather jacket which even in his headache and blurred eyesight, he somehow knew that the jacket was old and brown and too big for her frame. He was startled by his own thoughts.
Haymitch splashed his face with a handful of cold water to wake himself up but the girl was still there and the jacket was definitely old; old enough to have belonged to someone else and passed down to her, judging from the looks of it.
It was when she picked up an item from her feet and slung it over her shoulder that Haymitch reeled back.
It was a bow.
She hunts and wears her hair in braid with a gold pin.
"A mockingjay," he breathed out in realisation. Haymitch ran a shaking hand through his hair. "No. No, this is impossible."
Having found his boots, he jammed them on and slammed his front door open. His footsteps were heavy as it thudded against the pathway to the house next door.
He met the boy halfway and surprised, they both stopped short.
"Oh, hello, I was just about to go over."
Haymitch stared at him and at the bread wrapped with a piece of cloth that he was holding.
"I would have come sooner but we were quite swamped with all the unpacking," he laughed lightly. "I'm your neighbour."
As if that needed explaining, Haymitch thought.
"Yeah, saw you moved in a week ago or something," Haymitch grunted. "Who's the girl?"
"My fiancé," he answered, the pride clearly displayed on his face. "I made some extra bread and thought that this was a good time as any to come over and introduce myself."
Haymitch silently took the bread he offered.
"I'm Peeta," he extended his hand. "Peeta Mellark."
The name made Haymitch freeze. He felt his stomach churning.
"I'm sure you have seen Katniss around," Peeta went on even if he found Haymitch's reaction slightly odd. "She's gone to hunt but once she comes back I'll tell her to drop by and say hello."
"Katniss," Haymitch rolled the name on his tongue. "Katniss Everdeen..."
That seemed to throw Peeta off. "Do you ... Do you know Katniss?"
Do I know, Katniss?
He wanted to laugh except he was in too much shock.
"Did you break into my study?" Haymitch demanded.
"What?" Peeta sputtered, not at all expecting to be accused of breaking and entering.
"Your names… Were you given them from birth or did you… Did you both have it changed recently? Did you steal the names from me?"
"I don't – I'm not sure I understand you," Peeta shook his head.
Without ever telling the boy his name, Haymitch turned around and marched back to his house. He slammed the door and locked it, and took the stairs two at a time.
For the first time in a long while, Haymitch turned the knob into his study. The simple act of opening the door and his footsteps against the floorboard unsettled the dust which floated in the air.
He went straight for his desk and rummaged through stacks of papers, sweeping others onto the floor and knocking old ink bottles over until he finally found what he was looking for. The papers were wedged under his typewriter.
His eyes scanned through the words and then his breath caught.
Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.
There it was written in ink.
He knew why they were familiar.
They were his characters.
He wrote them. He created them and somehow... they were both alive and living next door.
So... WHAT DO YOU THINK! How is he going to deal with this knowledge? Or is he even going to accept it? Let me know in your reviews :)