Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. This is a parody fanwork by fans for fans. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.

Mad World
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

oOo

"Haymitch Abernathy you get yourself out of bed right this instant!"

I lash out with the ever-present knife in my hand at the annoying voice. I was having a dream, a good one too. In it I'd died during my Games and Maysilee'd gone on to win and go back home to her girl. Then I'd be dead, and I wouldn't have to deal with annoying Capitol escorts and dead lovers haunting my waking moments and my nightmares.

"Oh for goodness' sakes, Haymitch, you need to watch yourself with that knife! One day you're going to hurt someone and I won't be here to save you!"

"If I knew that would keep you away from me sooner, might do it." I open my eyes to glare at Effie.

She waves one lace gloved hand dismissively. "Now you don't mean that."

"Yes I do," I grumble, straightening up in my chair. I hear a few of my vertebrae crack in protest. They can shut up too. "Now look, I'm up. Can't you go make someone else's life a livin' hell for a few hours?" I want a drink and maybe something light to eat. But definitely a drink or six.

Effie, the blasted woman, shakes her head. "Not until I'm sure that you won't show up at the Reaping wearing that."

I look down at my vomit-stained and wrinkled shirt and vest. "What's wrong with it?"

"Do you want a list?"

"Not really."

"Look," she says with a long suffering sigh. "I've brought you some new clothes, fresh from the Capitol. I expect you to wear them and I expect you to be sober when you do."

"That's askin' a bit much," I tell her. I make it a point never to be sober on Reaping Day. Too many dead kids staring accusingly at me, I don't want to remember the faces of the live ones and their families too.

She smacks a newspaper against my chest. "Just do it. I don't have time for your childish antics. It's a big big big day and you wouldn't want to miss any of it."

"Says you," I say, stretching slightly and getting a wave of my own funk. I need a bath. And a drink. Definitely a drink. "What's today but another dead tribute walking?" I look under my chair and spot an unopened bottle of Ripper's best.

"Maybe this year will be different." Her voice is wistful. "Maybe this year our tributes will actually have a chance."

"You keep hopin' that, princess." I pry the cork out with my teeth. "I'll keep drinking. We'll see which one gets the job done first."

"You're so cynical, Haymitch. You've got to keep up a positive attitude. For the sake of the children if nothing else."

I take a swig of moonshine, feeling it burn a welcome path to my stomach. "Princess, I ain't had a positive attitude in over twenty years."

She's had enough. "Just get dressed." She leaves my house. Finally.

But she's got a point. I should get dressed. The kids deserve better than an old drunk like me. I should at least attempt to look the part of a competent mentor, even if I'm not. No other mentor's gone twenty plus years without a tribute in the top eight. Closest I've ever gotten was tenth, and I think that was more the girl's sheer willpower than anything else.

I rub the bottle between my hands, watching the clear liquid slosh about. Maybe this year'll be different. Like Effie said, maybe this year I'll get a fire, or maybe even two. It's unlikely, with how everybody's so beaten down from starvation and the flu. But it could happen.

Yeah right.

oOo

Two o'clock comes and I'm dressed and on the stage, waiting for Effie Trinket to make her grand debut. Most people don't know it, but escorts aren't allowed to take the stage until their district's ready to get shown on television. She's runnin' late. Something must've happened. Something big. The Capitol's big on punctuality. It's one of the first things you learn as a new Victor: don't be late. Not to anything. Bad things will happen if you are.

The kids are shiftin' around nervously. They all want to go home to their friends and families. Most of them will. But two unlucky sons of bitches won't. They'll be on the train and soon after, they'll be dead. That's the way of life here in Twelve. You're born, you get Reaped, and you die. Some of us just take longer.

Damn, I want another drink.

Ya think anybody will notice if I head down to the Hob for a bottle or two?

I don't get a chance to test that out 'cause Effie finally makes her grand entrance, mincing up on stage. I can tell she's out of sorts. Her wig's askew and there are two bright specks of color underneath that stupid pancake makeup shit she insists on wearing. I wonder what's up.

I tune out the next couple bits. The Mayor says the same things every year, stumbling over the same parts. Ya'd think the man would've learned his lines by now. It's only been fifteen years.

Effie doesn't even bother with her usual brainless speech that I know she spends hours preparing and that I know she forgets the moment she gets up there, falling back on her Capitol training to make it through, which of course means that she always says the wrong thing. It's one thing I like about her, if a district person can actually like a Capitol one. I suppose I could do worse. She actually cares about the kids, unlike the two pieces of shit who came before her.

"Ladies first," I hear her say.

Time to find out who the first patsy's gonna be.

"Delly Cartwright."

I blink. I heard that the Cartwrights lost two of their kids to the flu. They have another daughter? That's just cruel.

"Delly Cartwright? Are you here, dear?"

"She's dead!" I hear a boy call out from near the front of the group.

"Oh. Oh dear." Effie seems stunned. I told her that the flu was bad here when she called to offer her condolences about Johanna's death. I wonder what fool thing she'll say next. "She can't be a tribute then, now can she?" Good ol' Effie! "Um, it's a good thing that the Capitol has thought that such a situation might occur and has given me instructions on what to do!"

So that's what she was doin' in there. Other districts musta had other dead kids get called, Capitol musta come up with a contingency plan, cause I know they sure as hell didn't have one back when I was twelve, and we damned near spent all day in the damned sun, waitin' for that damned escort to figure out what to do and who to call when Judd Fry got called when he'd died the morning of the Reaping after falling on that trick knife he liked to play with.

"Since Delly Cartwright is unable to perform her civic duty due to being mortality challenged," Effie stumbles slightly over the rehearsed lines, clearly discomfited by the girl bein' dead, "it is my responsibility to call another brave young woman to take her place." She minces forward and pulls another name from the Reaping Ball. "Nancy Malone."

"Noooooo!" I hear a woman cry out from the crowd of adults. That is never a good sign.

My suspicions are confirmed when the kids in the twelve year old section part around a frozen girl who hasn't even got enough of a sense to stop crying. I can see Effie's shoulders droop. She knows what this means. That girl's dead. There ain't no hope for her, ain't nobody gonna sponsor a twelve year old who's as much of a mess as this one.

"Any volunteers for darling Nancy here?" Effie asks hopefully, an arm around the girl. She wants someone to volunteer, but no one does. No one ever volunteers in Twelve.

"Well, I bet you're desperate to learn who your district partner will be."

"Not really?" the little girl says, not understanding that the question wasn't really meant to be answered.

"Well, unfortunately we cannot dally any longer." Effie pats the girl awkwardly on the back before clacking up to the bowl holding the boys' names. "Now for the gentlemen." Effie pulls a name. "Sweetgale Hawthorne."

I snigger. I can't help it. What horrible parents named their son Sweetgale? That's a name guaranteed to get the stuffing kicked out of you in the schoolyard.

I look around for a kid that's flinchin', but nobody is. Matter of fact, everybody seems to be confused.

"Sweetgale Hawthorne, are you here?"

Still no answer.

"Do you mean Gale Hawthorne?" a girl's voice calls out from the sixteen year old section.

"Um, I suppose? Gale Hawthorne, please come up to the stage. Everybody's waiting."

No one moves.

"Um, oh dear, is it possible he's dead?" Effie turns to Mayor Undersee and looks at him expectantly.

The man shakes his head. "He's not in our records."

"Has anybody seen Sweetgale?"

I see a sea of people shaking their heads and a couple of Peacekeepers detach themselves from guarding the kids. They must be headin' towards the Hawthornes' house to check. I hope for his sake he ain't there.

We wait around, the hot sun beating down on us. I desperately want that drink and I'm starting to get angry at whoever this Sweetgale Hawthorne is. He's preventing me from having my drinking time right now on the train. I could be drinking good Capitol liquor right now and he's keeping me from it. Where the fuck is he?

A Peacekeeper returns and whispers something in the Mayor's ear. The man goes white. That's not good news.

I get up outta my chair and wander over. No one pays attention to a drunk. I listen in.

"-house is empty. No one's been living in there for months."

"It's possible he's dead, we did have several bodies we were unable to identify."

"I don't think that's the case, sir. We found symbols of rebellion painted in his house."

If possible, the Mayor's face gets whiter. "Oh my. I'm sure that's not what it is."

"What else do you call a bright red three foot wide mockingjay?" the Peacekeeper jeers.

Now this I gotta see.

"I think we need to perform a house-to-house search, sir," another Peacekeeper interjects. "It's possible he might be hiding with someone."

"Yes, of course. I understand," the Mayor nods his head. "What should we do about the children?" It's clear the man wants to get them out of the heat before they start to faint. A few kids did when I was twelve and the girl, Eller Cummings, swooned because of heatstroke while waiting up onstage.

The lead Peacekeeper shakes his head. "They need to stay here until we've confirmed that this Sweetgale Hawthorne is no longer in this district or is deceased."

"Ya need help?" I ask. "Anything's better than sittin' around here. Doin' my duty to the Capitol and all."

The man looks over at me gratefully. "Yeah, we could use the help. You know any trustworthy people?" I'm a little surprised to be taken up on my offer. I'd known that the Peacekeeper corps was stretched a bit thin 'cause of the flu but I didn't think it'd hit them this hard.

"I can think of several, just none of them are in Twelve." Most of 'em ain't even alive but I don't say that.

"Fine. Do you know of anybody who doesn't have any kids or any stake in this Reaping?"

I think about it. "Well, probably Ripper. She's a well-respected businesswoman in these parts. I don't think she's got children to speak of. Um… you could probably ask the Cartwrights. They're about the nicest folk you can find around here, and both their eligible kids died in this damn flu. I suppose you could ask for volunteers. I ain't got nothin'."

They assemble a group and head off to start checking the houses. Lots of them are empty, abandoned. Most of those have bright red mockingjays painted in them. After a time, I start looking for the damned red bird any time I enter one of the houses. That tells me, more than anything else, if the house is lived in or not.

There's a depressing number of houses with mockingjays in 'em.

We get to another abandoned house in the Seam. This one's got a mockingjay in it that's different from the rest. It's about three, four feet wide, and painted, not stenciled, on the wall. As soon as we walk in the door, I know this house is special.

"Who lived here?" I ask.

The Peacekeeper with me consults a clipboard. "I have this as the residence of Violet Everdeen, Katniss Everdeen, and Primrose Everdeen."

Right. The kid who bought Johanna's axe off of me. I narrow my eyes. I knew that girl's story was a lie. I'm beginnin' to find out just how much of a yarn she spun me.

I look at the house again, noting that there's nothing of personal value in it. I'm guessing they've run.

Across the room I hear a low whistle come from the Peacekeeper who's accompanying me. "What'd you find?" I ask.

The man holds up a partially red painted stencil and a paintbrush. "I think we've found who's been painting all the houses."

What kind of idiot would hide the tools of their trade in their own house? That Everdeen girl might have been a crap liar but she didn't strike me as too stupid to live. Probably our mystery artist discovered the empty house and used it as a convenient stash for their contraband. But I'm not about to tell the Peacekeeper that. "Looks like," I say, lying through my teeth. Time for a little bit of truth to make the lie easier to swallow. "Also looks like the girl's done skedaddled. If this place has been lived in in the last few weeks, I'm President Snow."

"But you're not- ohhhhh. I need to report this to my superior."

"You go do that," I tell the moron. "I'll just mosey on back to the square in a spell."

I debate heading over to the Hob to get some white liquor, but I know that Ripper isn't gonna be there. I shoulda never suggested her, damn near shot myself in the foot with that one.

Instead I hightail it over to the Hawthorne house. Of course I know his ma even if I've never met any of her kids, we were of an age. I liked Hazelle, she was a feisty one. Still don't know what she and that husband of hers were thinkin', namin' their kid Sweetgale. Best I can come up with is they were drunk at the time. Sounds like as good of an excuse as any to me.

I can tell right away that this house ain't been lived in for weeks, same as the Everdeen place. I think back. Don't that Everdeen girl have some kind of hunting partner? Tall boy, Seam. Think his name was… Wind? Storm? Squall? Something. I suppose it could be Gale. Sounds about right. I'm guessin' they took a good look at those odds and skedaddled. Good for them. Wish more people had that much sense, including me.

oOo

Eventually the rest of the town comes to the same conclusion I did. Gale Hawthorne is in the wind and there ain't no point in searchin' for him further. They even searched the Victors' Village, with neither hide nor hair of him turning up.

By the time we finish, they've had to bring out floodlights to light the square so we can finish the Reaping. It's a fuckin' mess.

Someone, probably Effie, has taken pity on poor Nancy and has her seated in a chair with a glass of water. The rest of the kids look about ready to drop. Time to put them out of their misery.

Effie eschews her usual affected gait and walks up to the girls' fishbowl, drawing out the name, "Katniss Everdeen."

"That's a girl," a girl yells.

Nancy perks up hopefully.

"Oh, um, sorry." She's probably bright red under that clown makeup. "It's been a bit of a day." She hurries over to the boys' bowl and draws a name. "Buster Ellison."

A thirteen year old trudges up on stage. He doesn't even have enough energy to cry. Might actually help his case. Still, he's thirteen, and no thirteen year old has ever won the Games.

Effie takes pity on poor Buster and doesn't even bother with her usual song and dance routine. She calls it a day and ushers the kids in to say goodbye to their families.

It's for the best. It's been a crazy kind of day.

I need a drink.

oOo

AN:
Written: 3/27/15
Revised: 5/7/15
Revised 2: 5/31/15

The title of this chapter comes from the song by Gary Jules off of the Donnie Darko soundtrack of the same name. Any song that has the lyrics "Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow" has to work for a Haymitch centric piece.

Yes, Johanna is dead. She unfortunately rolled low enough that she died from the flu. Based on our numbers, she would've survived in the Capitol, Four, or Thirteen, but she wasn't in any of them. We were sad to see her go, because we like Johanna, but we decided to abide by the rolls of the dice and she is unfortunately gone. However, her axe lives on, with Katniss and company.

So on to Gale's full name. So… there's a plant that kind of looks like a sage bush called sweetgale and it can be used in tea and for seasoning and thus our hypothesis that Gale might be named after the plant and not the weather condition. This came from the fact that Hazelle is named after the Hazel tree and Posy is named after a flower and then we postulated that the rest of the kids would also be named after plants/flowers but have nicknames that are a lot less embarrassing. So yes… Rory also has a plant name and so did Vick. We'll leave it up to you to guess what they could be. ^_^ A few of you picked up on it, but we wanted to come clean.

Up next! We'll return to our main story with Arc Three: We Didn't Start the Fire - He's married now to two wonderful people; even better, he's about to become a father. His life couldn't be better. Of course that means that everything's about to go all to hell.

Let us know what you thought!

P.S. If you want to see what happened in the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games - check out our side story "In the End" for more details.