Haymitch: Images
I wake up suddenly and automatically the hand gripping my knife slashes in front of me defensively. Except there's nothing there to fight. I am alone in my Capitol given house. Alone in the Victor's Village. Alone. That's when I know what woke me. It wasn't an intruder or a nightmare but reality. Today was another Reaping Day.
Today two more poor sods would be plucked from their homes to be killed for the Capitol's entertainment. If they were lucky that is. Because the lucky ones are probably the ones that die quickly in the arena. Everyone thinks I'm the lucky one from my Games because I came home. Except I didn't. Not really. I returned to District 12 but never truly came home. Images assault me of people long since gone, of fights that never seem to end and I scream as I try to erase it all from my head.
It doesn't work; it never does. So I do the only thing that ever helps at all – minimally but better than nothing. I pick up the half-empty bottle of white liquor and down it quickly. When it's empty I go in search of another. Slowly the images blur out through the haze and I slump into a seat sipping away until I'm forced to go to the Square to meet the newest kids I'll have to watch die.