Haymitch was sat st his kitchen table, bottle of white liquor in his hand. Like always. His last bottle of white liquor to be exact. He would have to make a run to the hob tonight for more. Surely Katniss would be upset with him, but he couldn't help it. He needed that liquor. Not only because his addiction had gotten so bad it was impossible to function without it in his system. But also because it was the only way he could forget. . .
You see, Haymitch starting drinking shortly after he had won the games, at the celebration party they held every year in the capitol. While all the capitol citizens were dancing and chatting and having a good time, Haymitch was sat on one of the plush leather sofas, thinking. Unlike most others, Haymitch wasn't ecstatic to have won the games. He was however, depressed. He hated how 47 others had died in that lush, deadly arena so he could be here today. He didn't want to go back home to district 12 and see his overjoyed parents when at this moment, three other families in district 12 were grieving over the loss of their child. It wasn't fair.
Actually, Haymitch was wishing he had died in the arena. He probably would have gone to hell - will go to hell on of these days. But hell couldn't be any worse than the nightmares that now plagued him each night.
Maybe if he had been killed really early in the games, like the blood bath, Maysilee might have had a chance of winning. She deserved it more than he did.
"Why so glum, young victor?" Haymitch jumped when a capitol man spoke to him. He looked like cotton candy with his large afro hairstyle dyed baby blue and his skin pale pink. His clippy accent only added to the ridiculous affair. "You should be celebrating" he continued.
When Haymitch didn't respond he left only to return with a glass of clear fluid. "Try this" he said, handing Haymitch the glass. "It will make you feel a whole lot better." Then he left.
Haymitch looked down at the crystal glass. At first he thought it was water until he noticed the delicate bubbles dancing their way to the surface. Hesitantly, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. He coughed as it burned his throat on the way down, so he continued to drink.
Once the glass was gone his head felt fuzzy, like the world around him was muted. It was nice. Somehow it now seemed like the games and everything that had happened during them no longer mattered. Just how wonderful he felt.
He had to have more.
And he did.
Higher and higher he went into his state of happiness with each glass he consumed. It was like he was flying, dancing on the clouds and singing along with the mockingjays. Haymitch felt better than he had since years before he was in the games. He figured all his problems were solved.
But now, over 20 years later, drinking had not solved his problems. However, Haymitch certainly had more problems than before. Alcohol was a coping skill, not a good one per say, but a coping skill nonetheless. Haymitch was no longer the happy drunk of his longer years but it still helped him to forget the horrors he had seen. The days and nights he spent passed out in his kitchen were usually nightmare free, of course nothing was ever guaranteed. It was one of the reasons he didn't try to sober up. Even though there are no more hunger games, what they have done to him will never go away. Not just the trauma from his own experiences in the arena, but 23 years of mentoring the boy and girl tribute from district 12 only to watch them die.
This is why Haymitch drinks: what he has experienced in his life is unbearable, and being drunk- no matter how temporary the effects- makes everything just a bit more bearable.
The end ^^