here and there

If there were still horns, let alone cars, I probably would have laid a down an arm and let out an earsplitting sound. I'm usually not one for crowds, nor sunlight, but an accidental meeting involving me and a stubborn bottle cap left me no choice other than to seek help, or sit alone in the Victor's Village and bleed to death. So here I was, out in the Sunday afternoon sun with thick liquid the color of wine (ironically the bottle I'd been attempting to open) dripping down my arm in a steady stream. And there just so happens to be a crowd outside the only available healer's shack, fantastic.

It was then that I decided I really needed a horn, if only to slightly part this sea of people, like some kind of shaggy Moses, just enough to squeeze through. Okay, and maybe to see the looks on their faces, because come on, you know that'd be hilarious. But I don't have a horn, so instead I tap the nearest person on the shoulder and ask, 'Hey, what's going on? Is it free bread day or something?'

She's an older woman, a little on the stocky side with greying hair and a belly that peaks out beneath her robes. Her expression quickly flicks from worry to irritation as she places me. 'Funny,' she murmurs, 'Now we all can't be Hunger Games Victors can we? What are you doing out here anyway, Haymitch? We have no time for your drunken games.'

I hold up my arm with a roll of the eyes, because with me, its' always drunken games, or alcohol this and wasted that. 'This look like 'games' to you, Sal?' I snort; a little relieved I'm able to place her. She shakes her head, grumbles some type of curse, then grips my wrist and begins pushing our way through the crowd.

'You really couldn't have picked a worse day to slice yourself open,' she growls, shoving yet another onlooker out of the way. I try to mumble an apology on behalf of the old cow, but before I could even get out more then a Sor- she's pulling me in through a wooden door and shuts it closed behind her.

'You never answered my question,' I call after Sal, as she rushes off through one of the shack's many doors, 'What's going on outside? Some kind of convention or something, something?' But she doesn't answer.

It doesn't hit me until Sal helps her in. And then I get it. The younger woman pants as she waddles in, her own belly protruding almost as far as Sal's, though hers, as far as I can tell, isn't made up of fat. Pools of sweat drip from her forehead, down her throat and around her collarbone. Her face is blushed red from the trek, but she smiles at me and offers her hand in welcome.

'Ah, now I see,' I guffaw, taking her hand, 'It's seems that little Mrs. Everdeen has gone and gotten herself knocked up!'

'Haymitch!' I hear Sal scold, but I'm too busy laughing, because Mrs. Everdeen's face is blushing even deeper than before, her mouth opens to retort, but her eyes catch sight of what I suppose was my wound and she stops. Ever the healer, wounds come first, vulgar insults second.

'May I see?' she asks.

Sal clucks her tongue, 'Now, Mrs. Everdeen, you said you'd only be a moment. You've already dilated quite a number of centimeters.'

Mrs. Everdeen waves her away, 'This will only take a moment.'

She lays my arm back on her table, accesses the damage, and asks Sal to fetch her some sterile thread and a needle. 'You'll need a stitch or two.'

'I've had worse,' I reply, glancing out the side window at the crowd which seems to have grown since Sal threw me inside, 'Some party outside, is it for you?'

She shakes her head, and uses her free hand to touch her protruding belly, 'For him. They haven't had a baby in quite a while.' She pauses a moment, runs a finger over her belly again and pushes, as if trying to keep him inside for just a bit longer, 'Well, no that's a lie. They haven't had a baby that's survived in quite a while. It's been about a year or so.'

'Do you have a name picked out?' I ask, a little desperate to steer the conversation into a lighter subject.

She shakes her head, 'Nah, he was a surprise, but a good one.'

'Your husband's excited?'

'Yes, I wish he was here.'

My chest sinks a bit, and I feel the heart that's sometimes there drop into my stomach, 'Oh, I'm sorry-

She gives a titter and I look at her surprised, 'He's alive. Just. At work.' She stops, so we leave it at that. Sal returns shortly, thankfully breaking the silence, and watches as Mrs. Everdeen quickly stitches up my arm, it's as she's severing the thread, that it drops from between her fingers. It lands with a light- ping against the tile.

A sob escapes her throat as she traps at her stomach, tears racing down her cheeks at break neck speeds. She doesn't speak, doesn't say a word. Liquid pools beneath her, but she doesn't move a muscle.

'Mrs. Everdeen? Mrs. Everdeen!' I call. I shake her shoulders hoping to pull her from her stupor. 'Sal? What's happening?'

'I thought it was a contraction,' her words stumble from her mouth, 'but now, I don't know how far she's dilated!'

'For God's sake, ENGLISH, Sal!'

She looks at me with her lips moving but no words coming out, and for a moment, I think she's gone into shock too, but then she cries out, 'She's having the baby!'

At that point, I think I was about to go into shock as well, which wouldn't have helped the situation any. Sal screams for me to clear the table; it was just long enough to fit her whole body and then some. While I was doing this, and disposing of the needles and thread, Sal called out into the crowd for a doctor, nursemaid, or anybody with experience with birthing children. Well, let's just say I wish I'd known that tactic earlier, as the sea parted the moment Sal threw open the door and said Mrs. Everdeen was in labor.

I heard Sal lead others in, and stepped back as they took over the scene. Sal murmured that I was free to leave, but there was something, this tug or pull, or God knows maybe it was just the alcohol in my system, but I stay, slumped down in a chair in the back of the room.

The minute's pass by in what feels like hours, and the hours seem to take even longer than that, but finally, just as my bodies' ready to call it a day, I hear the shrill jolting cry of the newborn. Stretching my legs, I stand from where I'd been huddled on the seat, and make my way over to the table. Mrs. Everdeen's somewhat awake. They have her chewing leaves that bringing her in and out of consciousness, but she gives a little lopsided smile when she sees me.

'Hun, is that you?'

Okay maybe when she thought she sees me. But I don't bother correcting her. If she thinks it's her husband standing over her, so be it. Though I doubt I look anything like the guy.

'Can I hold the kid?' I ask, not bothering to hide my accent, as I have no clue what Mr. Everdeen sounds like. And why was I even being so sappy? Where was my resolve? But I didn't bother pressing it much further, as she lays the child in my arms. It's small, and pale, like many children of the steam. He'll grow with dust in his hair, and soot on his face. They've wrapped him up in blankets, and he's seems to like that as he's stopped crying and just looks up at me. If he had any teeth, I bet he'd be smiling.

'Girl,' she mumbles from the table and I raise an eyebrow. She laughs, 'It's a girl. Don't act so surprised, you said you wanted one anyway.'

I hand her back to her mother. The baby titters, not as her mother had done earlier in the afternoon, but as if it's the beginning of a whine. A small chubby hand reaches from the blankets, but I shake my head. No.

.

I pass Mister Everdeen on my way back to Victor's Village. I don't bother to congratulate him. Best not to get too attached.

.

With precisian I didn't know she possessed the arrow passes by in a glimpse.

I mumble the Lord's name, and then glance back at her. She's spunky.

She's strong. It starts up inside my chest, but I let the sliver die back down. No. There was no possibility. Best not get too attached.