Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that the reader may recognise to have originated from the Hunger Games Trilogy created by Suzanne Collins.

AN: MUST READ! Ok, i am sensing that many of you have found/are finding this confusing. Just so you know, the italics are Haymitch's flashbacks, the random quote is President Snow and the few description-y bits are just what's happening at present. it looked much better in my head i assure you, like a movie sequence if you get what i mean. A bit like the opening for HP 6.

Also, the POV of the chapter or that particular section will be written in the top left corner.

Anyway, now that that's cleared up...

'All that glitter and all that gold
Won't buy you happy
When you've been bought and sold.'-Rebecca Ferguson

-Haymitch-

Chapter 1

-Victor-

"Do you know why I do what I do, Victor?"

The glitter dances before my eyes, twirling and shimmering as they waltz in downward spirals. The brilliant flashes of their cameras blind me, their screams echoing in my ears.

He yelps, writhing in my grip as he begs me to spare him. I hold the knife against his throat, pressing the blade harder against the soft skin.

It's actually quite amusing, the way the tables have turned. Just moments ago he had been leering at me, throwing taunts at me as he had attempted to slash my guts out. Now look at him, simpering and broken, at the mercy of my bloodied hands.

I ball my fist in his hair, making sure that I have an iron grip. I yank back his impressive head and without hesitation, I plunge the dagger deep into his chest. I hold it there for a moment, actually savouring the sound of his dying gurgles, and rip the blade down. The result is spectacular; blood spurts into all sort of different directions and cracked bits of his rib cage fly into the air.

The cannon fires, its boom echoing in the Arena.

I stand back, never feeling so empowered in my life.

"Why I place you in an Arena?"

His voice slides into my ears, the greasy words coating my canal and pounding along its walls. His fingers skim along the shoulders of my jacket, making their way down to the flower imbedded in the lapel; a bright yellow dandelion. He frowns as he nudges it slightly with his long fingers, forcing it to stand upright.

The rain falls heavily, the drops heavy and condensed. Thunder pounds in the distance, lightening striking in odd and uncalculated places. I watch as one particular bolt lands in dense forest not far from my current position. A fire immediately ignites and I can hear someone screaming.

I bet the Capitol citizens are watching with waging tongues.

It lasts for a while, this dying tribute's cries.

I get the image that the poor kid's probably caught on fire, their clothes burning and sticking to their skin. It doesn't take long before another cannon fires.

I secretly hope it's one of the Careers, but the chances of that are unlikely.

Silence follows, and for a few minutes I am left to my own thoughts. I squeeze my limbs even tighter, hoping to bring out the last ounces of warmth I have. I have no idea how long the Gamemakers will make this last, and I have no idea how long my makeshift mud cave will last me.

I suddenly hear the crunching of twigs and undergrowth and instantly, I snap my head up. I recede further into my cave, hoping to remain out of sight but still able to see what's going on.

A figure falls through the heavy bush, falling flat onto their face. I can hear them groan and from the high tones and pitches, I can tell that it's a girl. She resurfaces, leaning against a tree as she catches her breath. She is clutching her stomach, and though my vision is blurred, I can see that it is a formidable wound. The rain clears for about a second, and in that time I can see who it is.

Laurel.

I can tell from her dark Seam hair, and tanned Seam skin. Her eyes are almost black in the near-darkness.

I watch as she looks around fearfully, groaning and struggling to contain her pain as she does. Clearly she is running from someone, and my guess is the Careers.

My assumptions are proven correct as the sounds of a dozen voices enters my ears. Laurel moans, but she has no strength to move on.

I watch in horror as the Careers gain on her, all glinting with blood lust as they stand over her. It takes only one swipe and Laurel's throat is slashed. The blood spurts out into a macabre fountain of death, the Careers laughing and slapping each other high fives as the cannon booms once more.

"Because it is my responsibility. It is what I have been entrusted to do."

I wake from my deep sleep, rather startled I must admit. I had had a nightmare of sorts, only I had seen nothing; only darkness. I fidget slightly, the twigs beneath me digging into my back.

The mockingjays of the woods chirp happily on their branches, tweeting a tune I've no familiarity with.

The sun shines through the branches and overgrowth. It is an unusually sunny day; no one could have guessed the horrors that are about to unfold at twelve o'clock.

I turn my head to the side and smile. Vesper is still my arms, her head curled against my chest. She's still breathing; I can hear her tiny gasps.

I check the time with my father's battered watch; eleven forty-five. Fifteen minutes until the Reaping.

A dread fills my stomach. I'm sixteen, so I still have two years to go until I'm safe. But Vesper has three, and that makes me sick.

I'll be in the clear before she is.

I decide to wake her.

I nudge her slightly, and at first she protests, mumbling in her sleep as she rolls over. I shake my head.

This time, I forcibly push her off and get up onto my feet.

She flips onto her back, now completely awake. She eyes me with contempt.

'Don't give me that look,' I laugh.

'Did you have to push me?' she scowls, getting up herself.

'Not my fault you land like a log,' I smirk, 'You should lose some weight, Fatty.'

She flares and for a moment, I think I've actually angered her. But my doubts melt away as she cracks a wide grin. It reaches her Merchant eyes, and I know it's genuine. Her Seam hair falls onto her face as she stomps towards me, wrapping an arm around my waist as I do the same to her.

We walk in silence for a moment, nearing the Square with every step.

They have already set up, the stage set and the cameras ready. Our District escort, Eurydice Beerun, is standing attentively at the fore front. She is decked in an erratic purple outfit, fitted with feathers, jewels and fake flowers.

The other children have already assembled in their blocks, anticipating the dread of the Reaping.

I look to Vesper.

She's frozen in her spot, her eyes wide. She turns her chin to me and smiles sadly.

'Happy Hunger Games,' she whispers quietly.

I pull her close and plant a kiss in her hair.

'And may the odds be ever in your favour,' I murmur.

"I must keep my people safe, I must keep them from harm. From themselves."

I snap from my daze and look right into his stone blue eyes, my own flaring with anger. My jaw clenches, my fists balling.

His words of so called justification strike powerfully against my heart, stirring within me a rage unparalleled to anything I have ever felt before.

President Snow smiles, his lips pulling themselves wide in a grotesque manner.

"Hmm," He chuckles, letting a snort blow out of his nose, "I see you find this contradictory."

My hands are covered in her blood, her own clutching her ruined throat. Maysilee begins to convulse, accidently spurting globs of blood into my eye.

I'm too late, I think, I'm too late to save her.

I feel downright helpless, unable to offer her anything other than human contact in her final moments.

My eyes lock with hers and for a moment, I forget where I am and what I'm doing. I can remember earlier times, when her bright blue eyes had once been filled with joy and so full of life. I can hear her laughter in my ears, the sounds of her giggling with her sisters.

Now her eyes are dulling, slowly receding as the life within her begins to die. She slowly lifts a hand and shakily holds it out to me.

'Haymitch,' she manages to croak.

I take her hand without hesitation, squeezing it a little too hard. Her fingers are sticky with blood, still very much warm.

I know they're watching and I wish that there is something I can do. I want to make them flush with embarrassment, to make them take responsibility for her predicament. To make them responsible for everyone that I've been forced to watch die horrible deaths. I want to scream, scream with the hatred I feel.

But there is nothing I can do.

So I sit here, holding Maysilee's hand as she slowly slips away from me. Her body stops shaking, her breathing slowing down. Her lips part and with a slight thud, her head falls limp to her side.

She's gone.

I stand as straight as an arrow, consciously willing my lips to cease in their quivering dance. He does not frighten me, oh no. But his presence, his stench, his entire being makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.

I honestly do not know what is stopping me from tearing him apart right this minute with my bare hands.

He tilts his head to the side, observing my rigid form with detachment.

His eyes glisten.

"The people are like children. They do not know what is best for them."

The anger within me boils over and everything that I have been through, everything that I have been forced to see and do no longer allows me to endure.

"And the Games, that's what's best for us?" I ask, my words almost escaping me in a snake like hiss.

Snow seems a little taken aback, up until now used to my scowling and brooding manner. But he quickly recomposes himself like the statesman he is and stands impassively before me.

He cocks his head upwards at me, looking down his nose.

"Yes it is," he says quietly.

There is no remorse in his words, no regret.

Just pure indifference.

"Dividing us, impoverishing us, murdering us? That's what's best for us?" I almost shout this, but something in my unconsciousness screams at me to contain myself. The Officiators are observing this carefully, standing by in case I decide to do anything stupid.

I have already shamed the Capitol once, I cannot risk it again.

But my will allows me to show my disgust, my pain emanating through my voice.

President Snow looks at me squarely in the eyes and they twinkle with something I have not seen before in him; amusement.

"My, my Victor! They were right; you do have a voice," he chuckles, bowing his head slightly in appreciation.

He taps his forehead twice and his tone becomes sinister. "And quite the mind, from what I've seen."

A brick falls in my stomach and I immediately know what he's referring to. The fear within me wretches, twisting and contorting itself into a physical entity that makes me want to hurl.

"From the very beginning, you trekked to the edge of the Arena. Why?" His gaze is unwavering, studying every part of my face. And not in a curious manner, as if he genuinely wanted to know why.

But rather, in an accusatory fashion, demanding why I had chosen to defy him.

"I needed to see where it all ended," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"But you knew from the beginning where it would end; forty-seven dead and a lone survivor." He delivers this with absolutely no emotion in his voice. It is as if the lives of these children mean nothing to him, as if he is oblivious to the blood on his hands.

Perhaps he is, perhaps his hands are so soaked in blood he does not notice it anymore.

I do not know what to say to him, if there is anything to say. There is nothing to use against this man, nothing in my power.

But I stand as still as I can, anxiously waiting what he's going to tell me next.

He turns his back on me, and from what I concur, is lifting the lid on the box containing the Victor's crown. I can hear the creak of the lid, but nothing more.

"Tell me, who are you going home to?" his back asks me.

"My mother. And my brother." I say immediately. I try my best to sound confident, to reveal nothing more than my familial ties back in 12; I deliberately leave Vesper out. I hope against hope that he knows nothing of her.

But there is no guarantee.

He turns back round, clutching the crown in his hands.

President Snow smiles curiously, tapping his fingers on the crown.

"Anyone else?" He asks, "Handsome boy like you, surely you have someone waiting for you?"

I am frozen, my heart caught in my ribs.

He knows.

"What's her name again? Vesper?" He asks. He lifts a brow as he runs a finger on the edge of the crown.

I can see the joy in his eye, the power he feels. He has something over me and because of it, it has rendered me paralysed.

I feel sick.

"It's a pretty name," Snow muses, "Pretty girl too."

He smiles once more at me, advancing with the crown. He carefully places it upon my head, turning it a little so it sits properly. It surely weighs a few kilograms; already my heads feels as if it is going to fall off.

He holds my shoulders, his touch making me nauseous. His scent is thick in my nose, that horrid mix of blood and roses. It's a disgusting combination, one that should never have formed a union.

The stench almost overwhelms me as he stands even closer.

"Well done Victor," President Snow says, "Savour your victory."

He waves his hand in the air, twirling the still falling streamers and confetti with detached amusement.

"Savour all this...this glitter and gold," He clasps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, but I just know there is no sincerity in his actions.

"Whilst you still have it."

AN: Yay! You reached the end! Now you can express your thoughts with a review! Hehe. Anyway, when I read Mockingjay, it just didn't seem fair, that Haymitch lost everything within two weeks of crowning. It seemed far too cruel. But I suppose, what I am about to do is worse.

So, what did you think?