A/N: Haymitch angst, written for English class. Will not be in chronological order.
interminable
He won't stop walking. It's like there's a force driving him that only he can see, because there's certainly no visible, obvious reason to keep moving. We rest at night, but only when it's impossible to see any longer, and then we're off again at the crack of dawn.
I'm not going to ask what he's doing. Even if I do, I don't think he'll answer. When we were in the Capitol, he ignored everyone. The only times I actually heard him talk were at his interview and to yell, loudly, at our mentor that he'd do what he wanted. Truth be told, I'm afraid to speak up. He knows how to use his knife a lot better than I do mine.
But after we're attacked by carnivorous squirrels for the umpteenth time, we both are bleeding all over, and he just keeps walking, without a word, I have to say something. I plant my feet firmly on the ground and stand there. He disappears into the emerald-green forest, not appearing to notice.
It doesn't take long for him to realize I'm missing, though. He doesn't call out – he's much too infuriatingly clever for that – but I can hear him crashing through the underbrush. I've always been quieter than he is, even when neither of us is making a sound, or so I like to think. But I'm glad he's returning for me, because I'd never admit it to him but I'm terrified.
"What're you doing?" he hisses at me when he emerges from the trees. "C'mon, let's go," he says without waiting for an answer, pulling on my arm. I can tell by his expression that he's surprised when I don't budge.
"Only if you tell me where we're going." I wonder if I can burn him with my gaze.
His dark brows come together in frustration. "The arena can't go forever. It's got to end somewhere, right?"
"It does?" I can't see why this matters.
He lets out a huff of exasperation and wheels around, only to come pacing back to me with extreme annoyance in his eyes. "You don't understand, okay? Look, just – there might be something there that we can use."
"You think so, huh?" I make no attempt to keep the sarcasm from my tone.
"Ugh, Maysilee, you just don't get it!" he says, louder than is wise, and the knowledge of it registers on his face. "Now let's go." I don't resist when he drags me away. More walking.
But I'm still not convinced that there's a limit to this torturing place. Who are we to say that the Gamemakers can't construct something endless? I don't know what they're capable of, and neither does he.
Looks like I'm wrong, though, when we come to the chasm with no way across. There are no fallen logs to crawl over like past Games, not that I would ever do that, anyways. I don't care how safe the other side is.
He doesn't gloat, just stands peering over the edge as if the key to survival is written at the bottom. I come up beside him and check – it isn't.
"Well, it looks like this is it," I say.
He turns to me, flushed with excitement. "We can use this," he tells me, not seeming to hear.
"You can use it," I correct. "There's nothing more to find."
"Don't you understand?" he asks, and then rolls his eyes. "No. Of course you don't." He goes back to staring down at the canyon.
I stand there awkwardly, not wanting to stay but unsure of how to leave. The moment stretches out for eternity until, finally, I say, "Good luck, I guess." I turn and walk away, straining to hear a reply, but there is none. It's done.
And then the candy pink birds swarm around me and I'm screaming and screaming and please make it stop, except it doesn't, and I know that it will never be over.