I'm broken. Completely and utterly broken. But how exactly did I get this way? I try to remember, searching my mind before I finally find my answer. I regret trying to remember once I do because the reason I am reduced to being drunk is the Hunger Games. The one game where the winner doesn't truly win. In almost any victor's opinion, the ones who die or are never reaped are the lucky ones.
When your dead your basically untouchable to the Capitol. You are free from there manipulating ways. The only ones who would disagree are those monsters the Capitol calls Careers. I snarl and throw the bottle containing white wine, which I was drinking from at the wall. I curse under my breath after realizing that it was my last bottle. Those monsters actually enjoy these games. They are even so eager as to volunteer for the chance to kill and possibly die!
It both outrages and disgusts me because they remind me of the Capitol. The Capitol who thinks they are so generous as to spare us by creating the Hunger Games. They, who for some sick twisted reason enjoy watching us fight for our lives on television. They don't even know that every district hates the Games. Instead, they make us pretend to enjoy it!
It makes me so sick, I wish I had died in that arena. I wish someone else had to deal with this burning regret that I feel when I am sober. I wish I didn't have to be haunted by the faces of the tributes that I killed or couldn't save. Because those tributes had families, a future, people who cared about them. If I had died, Snow wouldn't have demanded me to go on these appointments, and my objection wouldn't have gotten my family killed. This is why I am reduced to this drunken state. It's why I build walls around myself so I don't have anymore guilt. The Games are why I would rather drink than drown in regret, guilt, and pain.
So guys, that was my first one-shot, I hope I didn't write Haymitch's character too bad. Please review .