I do not own 'The Hunger Games' or anything related.
I couldn't believe how stupid Katniss had just been! What was she thinking? Didn't she realised what she had done? No, of course she didn't, no more than I did! And I should have seen it coming. Just like I should have anticipated her reaction to the effect Peeta's expression of love had on her, I should have realised that this girl was so much like me that she would end up doing something like me. Exactly like me!
It was two weeks after I had been crowned victor. Me and my family were having dinner in our new house. It was an ordinary day in our new lives. Then the door burst open, and the peacekeepers entered, dragging Rachelle with them. At once, they grabbed my family, forced them on their knees on the floor in a line with her, with me in front of them.
"Cray!" The head peacekeeper barked to a young peacekeeper, "Do not let go of that child!"
He loaded a pistol.
"You shouldn't have pulled that stunt with the forcefield."
I was only looking at my little brother. He was frightened.
"Haymitch!"
"It's okay!" I lied to him, "It's going to be okay! Look at me! Larie, look at me!"
I wanted him to keep his focus on me. The gun shots were like the canons in the arena. After the first canon had fired, my mother and brother screamed.
"I love you! I love you, okay? I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you-"
This was only making him more terrified, because he knew that I would only say this if things were really bad. Another canon fired.
"LARIE, I LOVE YOU!"
"HAYMITCH!"
The head peacekeeper put his gun to my brother's head and the third canon fired. I can still visualise the brains flying out from the hole where the bullet exited his head. The peacekeepers left me to my mess. But I wasn't watching them. My eyes were solely fixed on my brother, his brains still splattered on the floor, his terrified, crying eyes staring up at me. I felt like I was hyperventilating, until I let out the loudest scream.
I don't know how much time passed after that moment. I remained on the ground, just staring at the bodies of all of my loved ones. I didn't react when I heard the door open. Had the peacekeepers come to finish me off? Please. Please do it, so I can lie with everyone I care about.
"Oh shit."
It was a woman's voice. Ray's voice. I heard her footsteps come closer. She gripped me by the arm and pulled me up.
"No, let me go," I pleaded, "Let me stay!"
"There's nothing you can do for them now."
She was surprisingly strong for such an old woman. In the end I stopped resisting. She pulled me away from the house, and to her own. She threw me in a chair. Then she poured a drink, and slammed it on the table in front of me.
"Drink it."
"No."
"Drink it!"
"I can't."
"I SAID DRINK IT!"
I tried to get up. As I did so, with unnatural speed she plunged a knife in the table so that it barely missed my fingertips.
"Drink it or I'll force it down your throat."
"Will it make the pain go away?"
"No. But it will help."
At once I took the glass, and took a sip. The stuff was foul. How did my old man ever drink this stuff so readily?
"Drink the whole glass."
I put the glass down. I felt a fire in me.
"Now, what do you want to do?"
"I'm gonna kill them."
I pulled the knife out of the table.
"Don't be stupid."
I swiped at her, but she easily dodged my attacks before knocking the knife out of my hand.
"If you can't defeat an old woman then what chance do you have against the peacekeepers?"
"They need to pay for what they did to my loved ones!"
"Then maybe you need to stab yourself too!"
I stared at her.
"Who did you think you were dealing with? A drunken old man? Or a school's faculty?"
"Then, then what difference does it make? If they kill me then they'll be avenged."
"What good would that do? If you want to atone for their deaths, then live. Live long enough to take my place as a mentor, until another victor emerges."
"Oh. I see what you're doing. This isn't about my family, this is about passing your sorry job onto me-"
"You've got to live, Haymitch!"
She squeezed my arms so hard I could feel her finger nails digging into me.
"I can't do this forever! I need you to go on living, Haymitch!"
"Oh, like I needed you? Where was this great wisdom when I was a tribute? Why didn't you warn me not to do this? If I'm responsible for their deaths, then so are you. They are dead because of you!"
"You're right."
Her face surprisingly softened.
"Had I been a better mentor to you, no, HAD I been a mentor to you, I would have told you not to do what you did in the arena. Which is why you've got to be better than me, Haymitch! You can't make my mistakes. It may be a long time. A decade, twenty-five years, even fifty, but one day, there will be someone who can win the games, and you need to be there to guide them, to make sure they can win, and above all, to make sure what happened to you doesn't happen to them!
"Now take another drink, and let's make a call to deal with your family."
I woke up. At once I vomited in the toilet. I came down to the kitchen, where the blood stains of everyone I loved remained on the floor. I even think I saw a bit of brain. At once I went back to the bathroom to vomit. There was slamming on the door. Someone was calling my name.
"Mitch! Mitch, open up!"
The noise was doing no good for the headache I had. Wait. There was only one person I knew who called me Mitch.
"Alright, I'm coming!"
I opened the door. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was Mel. He was catching his breath. Had he just learned what had happened? Had he run all the way here after hearing the news, just for me?
"Mitch!" He gasped, looking up, "I heard what happened! I'm so sorry, man!"
It was the happiest I had felt since it happened. They had missed one. There was still someone I cared about. At once I wanted to pounce on him, to hug him tightly, to apologise how I acted the day before, that the things I said I only said because I was frightened, scared of losing someone I cared about, how much his friendship meant to me, how much he meant to me.
Before I could do so I stopped.
Wait. Why had he been missed?
"Mitch, I just want you to know, I'm here for you, man."
But I wasn't listening. I tried to think about why he wasn't dragged to my house last night, forced to watch him die along with the others. The peacekeepers knew that we've hung around for years. Did they hear about our argument earlier that day?
"Mitch?"
But then I also thought about the incident almost a week before, how he had been tied and whipped. How odd it felt that he had finally been caught, after he had been so careful for so many years poaching-
Poaching. It was then that my eyes trailed down his arm to what he was holding. It looked like he had already been in the woods, holding a turkey. Turkey. That's Cray's favourite from the woods. Cray, who held my brother in place as he was murdered.
"Mitch, what's wrong?"
"You're sorry?" I spat, "Just what are you sorry for? Feeling guilty, are you?"
"Guilty? Mitch, what are you talking about-?"
"They murdered my family! They murdered them! And here you are feeding one of them the next the day?"
"Mitch-"
"You're full of crap, you know that, Mel? You think of yourself as this great saviour of District 12, feeding all the poor, making sure they don't go hungry, all those poor merchants and peacekeepers. Do you know what they call someone who works with the enemy? A collaborator!"
Mel backed away.
"Haymitch, that's not fair-"
"THEY MADE ME WATCH! They made me watch as they killed everyone I loved! My little brother was terrified at what was happening! And all I could do was tell him that it would be alright, even though I knew it wouldn't be! Don't talk to me about fair!"
"OK Mitch, I'll stop. I won't trade with the peacekeepers anymore!"
I could see that he meant it.
"No," I shook my head, "No, you do what you need to do. I can't bear to look at you either way."
I could tell that out of everything I said, this hurt him the most.
"Mitch-"
He stretched out his hand, but I knocked it away.
"Don't touch me! Get off of my property! And get out of my life!"
"Mitch, please-"
"Oh just go, will you? For the last time, leave me alone! Go! GO!"
I hoped he didn't hear the hint of pleading in my voice. He raised his hand, clenching and unclenching. I could tell that he was torn, between wanting to be there for me and to keep his promise to always go when I told him to. After a few unclenches, he let it dropped. Then he walked away. I didn't wait for him to exit my sight. I slammed the door behind me. I noticed the bottle on the table. I went for it and downed it.
I was banned from my girlfriend's own funeral. Apparently, her parents considered me responsible for her death, that they knew no good could come associating with me. With my ma and brother, there were plenty of guests, classmates and friends of the two. I think everyone expected me to say something, but I just drank from a bottle of liquor instead, my eyes fixed on their coffins, not wanting to make conversation with anyone, even if they tried. Ray was there. I never told her that she was the one person I was glad to be at the funeral. Throughout the whole procession, I couldn't wait until it was over, as the coffins were lowered into the ground, and then I could return to my house, and continue to drink until I was unconscious, then fight the hangover so that I could drink some more. I never wanted to be sober again.
"Deep in the meadow-"
And then I heard him. I was stunned. I turned around. Standing a good feet away from the rest of the crowd was Mel, in his best clothing. He had come. He had come to support me, after I drove him away. He continued to sing "Deep in the Meadow". He sang the whole damn song! Still remember him singing in the hall all those years ago, when we first met, and how I was stunned that such a beautiful thing could exist, in District 12 of all places, how taken aback I was that it caused me to laugh. Maybe that's why I never liked it when he sang. Not that it was bad, of course not, but I was never entranced by it like so many people were. But I never appreciated it as much as I did right then.
When he finished, we just stared at each other. Then he turned around to leave.
"Stop!" I wanted to cry.
I wanted to run after him, to catch up with him, to hug him, to hold him tightly.
"I'm sorry," I imagined myself saying, "I'm so, so sorry!"
And he would hug me back. And we would swear to never part again, that whatever happened in the future, we would face it together.
But that only happened in my head, as instead I just let him walk away. It didn't help that the mockingjays took up his song.
I was never actually angry with him. Not really. I knew that he only did what he needed to to survive. What everyone did to survive. I couldn't blame him for that. But I was scared, scared that if I did anything wrong, that he would be targeted, just like everyone else I cared about. So I drove him away for his own safety, drove everyone away for their own safety. They were better off to be as far away from me as possible. He was better off as far away from me as possible.
He only came to my house once more. It was years later. I saw him approach the door. I could guess what it was about. I had heard that he was getting married. His marriage was quite a scandal! I remember him pining over the prettiest merchant girl, while trying to convince him that she was out of his league, but there was no point arguing with him, someone who regularly went into the woods, who everyone thought was so wonderful and brave because of that. I was never impressed, much like his singing. Well, he sure showed me!
As he raised his hand to knock on the door, I mentally begged him not to, even though a part of me desperately wanted him to. But then he thought better of it, and walked away. And I knew he would never come again. I down a bottle afterwards.
We never spoke again. Sometimes I would see him down at the hob, when he was trading, when I needed hands on some more white liquor. Whenever our eyes would meet, we would just stared at each other. He would smile. I would grin, holding up my bottle, and then we would go on our separate ways. That was all there was. That was all I needed.
Then came that terrible day, the worst day since all of my other loved ones had died. It was just like any other day. I had run out of white liquor, so I had come down to the hob to buy some more from Ripper. She seemed upset. I looked around. You could tell from the sombre atmosphere that some miner or miners had died.
"Who died?"
Probably not the most sensitive thing to say.
"Oh Haymitch. You haven't heard, had you?"
"Heard what?" I asked.
"There- was an accident down at the mines. A couple of miners didn't make it."
I looked around. Mel hadn't arrived. Which was strange because he was always around this early to -
No. No, not him!
"Who was it?" I grabbed by the arms, "Who?"
"Breese Hawthorne," She replied.
"Who else?" I started shaking her, "Who was the other?"
"Ph-Philomel Everdeen."
I staggered back. It was as if I had been struck through the heart with an arrow.
"Now, Haymitch, are you going to haggle with me – hey, where are you going? Hey!"
But I wasn't listening. I walked out of there. He couldn't be dead. Philomel Black Everdeen could not be dead, not after everything I did to keep him alive!
I had forgotten to buy liquor from Ripper, so I sucked the bottles dry of any remaining alcohol. And when there wasn't any, in anger as punishment I hurled the bottle at the wall where it smashed. I threw another. Then another, and another. Soon I started hurling the boxes of bottles, and when I had ran out of those to smash, I turn on the furniture, starting by throwing the table over. Then I started roaring, punching the walls until my hands were broken. And when my hands were too broken to hit anything, I staggered back until my back touched the wall, fell to the floor, huddled into a ball like a little child and cried, cried over Mel, my best friend, my first and only friend for a long time, someone who I loved like a brother, the last person I cared about in District 12.
After everything I did to keep him alive, he died anyway! All those times when I said I wouldn't be at his funeral, and I wasn't, because I was too busy getting drunk. I wonder if he had helped others to get out at the expense of his own life. It's the sort of thing he would do. And I hated him for it, hated him for leaving me all alone in the world.
I didn't want to go to the hob again, not to see his void, being reminded that I would never see him again. But my desire for drink overrode my grief. But it was painful. Painful noticing the spot where he once walked, where he haggled with the traders, knowing that will never happen again.
Then one day something unexpected happened. For a moment, I saw someone taking his void's place, but it wasn't him. Someone else trading at the hob. It was his daughter. I would see her accompany him at the hob, learning his trade. We caught eye contact once, but she kept on walking. After all, I was no one to her. And would you believe it, she would end up becoming my latest tribute! on the day before the Hunger Games, I swore to my dead friend that I would protect her no matter what. But I had failed. I was too preoccupied with helping her survive the careers and the arena that I didn't prepare her for the greatest threat. I could see it now. In a couple of weeks, they might bring the boy Gale to their new house, the peacekeepers forcing everyone on their knees, making Katniss watch as they murder everyone they cared about, one by one. They would do the same to Peeta, but it was Katniss I was focused on. First Gale, then her mother, before finally Primrose, Katniss begging her to look at her, lying that it was going to be alright, before the gun was aimed at her head.
"KATNISS!"
The bang shot me back into reality. No. No, I would not let that happen! I will not let what happened to me happen to that girl! But how, how could I save them?
Going to the bathroom, I vomited any alcohol that I hadn't absorbed yet, and then drank plenty of water. I needed my wits about me. I thought about it. There was only one way. It was a long shot, but if I could pull it off, then it might just work. And so I worked to save Mel's family.
