The Tree That Must Not Hang Tributes
Haymitch's POV
By a fountain spewing water I watch the people of Panem celebrate the certain coming deaths of 23 tributes. My headache gets worse from my alcohol withdraw. Rubbing my temples I curse Peeta for making me promise to slow down my alcohol intake till the games. Just as I thought my headache wasn't going to get worse a girly playful scream is produced. A family of four sits on a bench adjacent to me, giving presents. A little boy unsheathed a silver sword given out by his parents. Just like he has won the lottery he smiles, chasing his sister around pretending to stab her. Sick, ignorant, people blind to see what they have. How can they sit, have parties celebrating the fact that people are dying in the hands of their mercy. Deciding who they will let live or who will let die. I look away, facing the water I look at my reflection. I see a man who has to drink his pain away. I see a man who has no family left, because of them. I see someone, but yet it is not me this time; filled with arrogance, defiance, stubbornness and determination. It's a woman, Katniss. I see Katniss in my own eyes.
In my first years as a mentor I tried. I tried to help my tributes, only leading them into their late deaths. Though, something about this year is different. Katniss holds the qualities I see in myself. The problem is that if she survives, if she finds a way to defy the Capitol she could end up like me. A deep aching in my chest wants me to walk over by the family of four and wipe their little happy faces off. This year I promise I will try.
For surviving tributes it feels like you never left the arena. I feel the crumbling of past arenas, the slow decay of every dead tribute, and every single boom of the cannon.
The people of Panem think the hunger games have started. No, the hunger games start when are born. You fight for your life knowing that at any moment you could be dragged away as an example for rebelling districts. Your life ends as soon as you are born. Winning means fame and fortune, but losing means certain death. But who am I to fool? We all die in the end. Getting up I walk back to top of the training center for a glass of wine.
