Chaff, Age unknown- District 11
I always told people I'd win if I was in the Games. I didn't volunteer, though. I got Reaped, despite my tough-guy reaction. I picked a lot of fights on the rainy moors of the Arena, but guardian angels watch over fools and drunkards. They didn't watch over my hand, though. One fight resulted in a deep cut, and in that misty, muggy weather, it filled with pus faster than I could drain it. I tried to tell the girls the last Tribute I fought cut it off, but it was hard when they'd all seen it happen live.
The Capitol didn't like it when people like me won. They branded me a troublemaker from the start. Mostly because I was a troublemaker. I didn't take their fake hand after they took my real one. They called it a political statement, and maybe it was a little, but mostly I just wanted to freak people out with it. It also got me out of some of the nocturnal encounters. Some of them.
And some of those encounters weren't bad. It amused me that rich, glamorous Capitolites lined up for a piece of a smelly farm boy who didn't get past third grade. I was the sort of thing they'd spit at and maybe toss a crust to if they were feeling saintly. Men and women with jewelled eyes and rainbow-painted skin fighting for a prize that once sucked on rocks to pretend he wasn't hungry.
Hedonism ruins itself. The more you have, the less it seems to be. You go deeper and deeper until you come out the other end, lower even than people who have nothing. Sooner or later, people who have everything forget it all and destroy themselves, one way or another. Some rut like animals, searching out new depravity to satisfy their overloaded libidos. Others prefer the sublime serenity of drugs. Anarchy was more my style, and I fell into the most anarchic destruction of all: alcohol.
A few years later, another troublemaker won. The two Victors from Twelve were like night and day. The young hellion of a Victor didn't give a rat's tail for his mentor's advice on healing and moving on. He needed something stronger than prayers and reflection. And I needed a drinking buddy. The Capitol didn't like us being friends, which pleased us greatly. Trouble brewed with us together, and when we put our talk into action, neither of us would probably come out alive.
But you know what they say. Guardian angels watch over fools and drunkards.
Research on Chaff turned up that he was a troublemaker and Haymitch's drinking buddy. I didn't expect this to turn out so inspired, but such is life.