Poppies


Chapter Two

To Form a Friendship


It's been a while since I had grasped a weapon, and I feel rather hesitant in doing so. I stare at it for a long minute, trying to remember how to move it in my hand, but the muscles don't comply and it clatters to the floor.

Knives used to be my specialty, or at least I'm nearly sure they were. I try to remember how I won the Games, but all I can recall is a short flash of memory. So I put the knife down and drift away to do something else, because all these silly flashbacks are giving me a headache.

I'm in my own little world at the edible plants station. I love plants, especially vividly colored ones, and the greenery calms me. My fingers brush over the tips of some ferns and I feel a soft smile spread over my face. Lovely, I think, even though they are poisonous.

I stay there for most of the day, even though I'm already extremely knowledgeable about which plants are edible and which are not. It seems that this information has not left me, but has rather remained current and unfaltering. I can label each of the deadly ones with an accuracy that seems to surprise the man running the station. Soon, he has gotten out a thick book and is having me label the plants in the images.

I don't know I have company until a voice sounds at my right. It is Katniss Everdeen, and she is alone. I give her a silent smile and turn back to the plants, because I don't really know how to be sociable and I don't want to. She isn't insulted at all.

"You know a lot about plants," she comments, leaning in to touch the poisonous fern. She seems to be waiting for an answer, so I nod and say in a dreamy voice, "Oh yes. In District 6 they teach us at a young age about poison and such things. That's why morphling is so common there." I tilt my head and glance at her, admiring her strong profile.

She looks at her as well, and for the first time, gives me a smile. I find myself happy at her acceptance and begin to teach her a little about the poisonous plants. She listens with rapt attention and my admiration for her grows. If I have to give up my life to anyone, it is her.

"Are you nervous about going back into the Arena?" she suddenly asks me a few minutes later. She isn't looking at me now, but her eyes are instead fixated to a plant with lightly flowering buds.

I wonder at her for a long minute, trying to grasp onto her question and come up with a response. I don't really remember what 'nervous' feels like, so I'm unsure as to what to say. With a soft hum, I answer, "…Why should I be nervous of death? I have been dead before. I will open my arms to it and embrace it."

My cryptic response seems to surprise her, and she stares at me with a profound expression. I give her a breezy smile and we share a lingering, peaceful silence. It is broken only when Katniss' district partner, Peeta, comes over.

Before he even speaks, I decide that I like him. There's something gentle about him, and honest. When he speaks, his voice reflects this. "Katniss, it's almost time to eat. Will you be having lunch with us, Miss Greenberg?" I'm surprised that he knows my name.

Katniss turns to me expectantly, and I know I'm supposed to say yes. So I just nod and stand up, brushing off the dirt from my pants and following them to the food tables. Once there, I take a small amount of food because I'm not really hungry, and I go off to find a seat. Katniss and Peeta join me.

"So…you live in the capitol, Miss - " I cut Peeta off, because a chortle slides up my throat.

"Please call me Elaine," I say, and laugh again. "I used to live in District 6, but the doctors said I'd be better medicated here in the capitol." This seems to confuse Katniss, and so I go on to explain, "The morphling, you see. I can't live without it or I start to remember things. Things the doctors say I shouldn't." My explanation is perfectly natural for me to disclose, and their reaction is perfectly natural as well. They look shocked, and a little outrageous. Most people do.

"So that's why you don't remember your time in the Arena? Why would you want that?" Peeta asks, furrowing his brow in an attempt to understand.

I merely smile at them and respond lightly, "There are some wounds that can never be healed. You will understand that when all this is over." The war, the rebellion. If they live after that, I'd be very much surprised if nightmares didn't haunt their waking hours.

I used to have waking nightmares as well, but that was before the doctors prescribed a daily dose of sedatives. When I started taking them, I didn't have the nightmares anymore. In fact, I didn't really have anything anymore. But it didn't make me sad because I couldn't remember why I should be sad.

A lethargic silence sets in as we eat, but its hard for me to concentrate because there's something tugging at me, like some kind of reminder. I end up pushing my food around on my plate while I try to recall what it is my mind is telling me. It has something to do with Katniss and Peeta, and District 12, and the Games. My features must have rearranged into confusion, because Peeta asks if I'm alright.

I tell him that I'm fine, and that he shouldn't worry, but my reassurance doesn't seem to help and he keeps looking at me with concern.

"I was wondering…" Katniss begins, and I see Peeta shoot her a look that says he knows what she's going to be asking. "Our mentor says he knows you from somewhere, though he won't say where. I wanted to know if you remember him."

I study her face, feeling strange for some reason. When I ask who she means, I'm rewarded with a name that strikes me somewhere deep inside me. But though it's familiar, I'm left gasping and lost, because it doesn't seem to have the meaning I know it contains and it frightens me.

"…Haymitch…Abernathy?" my nose scrunches up as I think, and I haven't thought so hard in my life. I repeat the name again. It feels strange on my tongue, but not in an unpleasant way. Chills shiver up and down my spine and curl around my neck. "I'm not…I don't know…" I feel frustrated tears build up in my eyes and hurriedly blink them away. Shame twirls around me. I know this man, but I can't remember his face or what he means to me or why I'm crying over him. "I can't remember," I choke out, feeling desperate in a way I never have. "I can't remember…"

The disappointed silence that follows makes me want to bury my head in my arms and cry.


The next two days of training pass by in a blur. Finally, on the third day, it's time to perform before the judges. I've ceased caring about how many sponsors I'll get because I don't intend on living past the first few days anyway, and I can surely survive on my own if I can get past the bloodbath. So instead of worrying, I just calmly take my seat and wait my turn.

When my name is called, I drift into the room to find the judges sitting patiently in their chairs. I give them a transient smile and walk over to the knife rack. I pick a medium sized one, with a small handle and a sharp edge. It has a curling design on the hilt and is ultimately the reason I chose it. It looks pretty.

I walk slowly towards the target and study it, twisting the knife in my hands. These days, I only use knives to cook, because the capitol food is too filling for me and because the doctors say I should do something to keep me busy. I haven't thrown a knife in years and I feel as though I've forgotten how to. But as I retreat into myself and close my eyes, I start feeling much more calm. My hand lifts up and I peer out of my half-lidded eyes. Without thinking, I dart my arm forward and release the knife. There's a moment of silence before a dull thud reaches my ears, and I see the hilt of the knife jutting out of the target, a little skewed but remarkably in place.

The surprise I'm feeling doesn't show on my face, but there are impressed murmurs shifting through the judges table. I think I should feel prideful, but all I can feel is disgust that I haven't forgotten something as innate as weaponry. Surely, if I had to forget something, I would rather it be this.

I turn on my heel, nod to the judges, and walk haltingly out of the room feeling less vulnerable than normal.

At the end of the day, when everything is said and done and I'm staring at my face on the screen with the number 8 beside it, I can't help but ask for an extra dose of morphling. Because I'm beginning to feel like I did once, a long time ago when I was consumed by the desire to be a killer in order to keep my life. The concept of life is getting a little more solid.


Haymitch's POV, District 12 floor


The night is curtained by a thick veil. Outside the window, there is the tiny wisp of moonlight that can hardly be seen. It illuminates the room with an eerie sort of light that is reminiscent of Haymitch's own house. But rather than comfort him with the familiarity, it only makes him further unsettled.

He is laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His eyes are fixated but he isn't really there, in his room. Instead, he is sitting in the Control Room seven years ago watching a Games that nearly ruins him. In the end, when they ship her off to District 6 and then the Capitol, it actually does.

He hasn't seen her in years, but he's known about her. He follows her story when he can, because he can't help but try to keep in touch with what little of her he now possesses. It hurts to do so, but it would hurt more to cut her off entirely. Now, he wishes he had, because his heart is practically burning with contempt for himself, and the capitol, and the chemical that creates a wall between him and her.

He knows she doesn't remember him, because when Katniss and Peeta returned from their first day of training they were speaking of her during dinner, and he couldn't help but listen in. She doesn't remember anything now. It's as though she is split up in many different ways. A piece of her is in District 6, a piece in the capitol, and in the Arena. And a small part of her is in him, but she has lost her grasp on it and doesn't know.

Haymitch sighs: a deep, wallowing sound. Perhaps it would have been better if he had gone into the Arena. Then, he might be able to protect her rather than just watch. Surely she won't make it out alive. She won her first Games with an unexpected amount of luck. Besides, his first priority will always be to get Katniss out first.

He wonders if their love will ever be rekindled. She's all he is anymore, even though he hasn't seen her in eight years. She's all he ever was, and ever will be, because she understands him in a way no one else has. She knows what it's like to feel hunger, and doubt, and has shared a passion with him that has left him utterly bereft and yet completely fulfilled. So in the silence of the covered night, Haymitch does something he hasn't since before his Games: he prays.

"Come back to me," he breathes, and as he drifts off to sleep, he swears he hears her respond. 'I will. I promise.' Before all is quiet.


Hi! First of all, thanks so much for the review, A Lovely Latte~ I'm glad you like the story thus far and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :D

Anyway, feel free to review on your way out~!