CHAPTER 2: The Victor From 12 (Part 2)
Wow. He couldn't believe it. After the other three tributes names had been called, it would just so happen to be his luck that he was the last tribute to be selected in this glorified version of the Hunger Games. Half a century of this bullshit; he just simply couldn't believe that he was tribute number 48. Who the hell even came up with the idea to call this a quarter quell? Probably some dumbass from the Capitol.
All he knew was that this morning he woke up in bed, his girlfriend Iris by his side, living in the Seam with his momma Remohna, and his baby brother, Eugene; now, his night would end with him going to sleep in a damned fancy room in a place that he absolutely loathed. The Capitol was responsible for his papa's death, as he was listed guilty by association with a coworker from the coal mines for a crime he didn't commit. From the moment that he got hung, Haymitch had always held a strong hatred for anything and everything Capitol-related, especially when it came to the Games.
Haymitch took notice of his fellow tributes. There was Maysilee Donner, a girl that he considered to be a friend. They both had the same classes in school together. Then there was the other girl, Amara Welliver; she was someone that helped cook meals in the Hob. Then there was his male counterpart, a boy by the name of Russell Drusus. Russell was a frail boy who was every bit the age of 13, and his scarily visible ribs showed that. Poor boy wasn't going to make it through the first minute in the Arena, Haymitch had no doubt.
His family and girlfriend came to visit him in the waiting room, where tributes had one final hour to say their goodbyes. The ladies were crying, but his little brother had put on a strong face for him; it gave him some strength himself. "You're gonna come back home to us. Alive." That was what Eugene had told him. His mother told him to stay strong and his Iris, the woman that he loved, kissed him and told him, "We'll be here waiting for you when you get back home. You're not coming home in one of those damned boxes. Promise me Haymitch. Promise me that you're gonna fight tooth and nail." Something in her eyes made Haymitch break inside, and for the first time since his name was called in the Reaping, tears began to stream down his face. "I promise you Iris. No, I swear to you. I'm coming back to you. I'm coming back to you and to Mama and Eugene. I can't afford to fail." He kissed her, and as he broke the kiss, the Peacekeepers came and took him away. Goodbye District 12.
The tributes parade was the same shit as usual: coal miners outfits. Every year, it was the same. Haymitch was a fashionista in no way whatsoever, but even he tired of the same old outfits. They weren't even like the coal miners outfits from back home. In Haymitch's mind, that only showed just how stupid these Capitolites were. One thing he couldn't deny was that the food and drink were the best he had ever had. That was one thing that all the tributes from District 12 agreed upon. They may end up as lambs for the slaughter, but at least they would be happily fed lambs.
Haymitch enjoyed a stiff drink that night, following the parade. Maysilee joined him. "I didn't think you town girls had a taste for the strong shit." Maysilee smirked at him, then replied, "Us town girls usually can get the Peacekeepers to get us a drink from the Capitol. I just don't have to bribe anyone anymore." She took a sip from her drink, something called a pina colada, according to the local Capitolites. He stuck with the closest thing to the white liquor they had back home, this drink called vodka. It was tasteless, and he didn't mind it.
"How do you feel about all of this?" Maysilee asked him. "Truthfully?" he asked. "I think that it's anyone's Games this year. There's 48 of us now, not just 24. It's gonna be one helluva thing, no doubt about it. How do you feel about it?" Maysilee took a swig from her drink and then spoke. "I think that if I want to see home again, it's gonna cost me something. A part of myself, perhaps. But I think it's a price worth paying don't you?" Haymitch never responded to her question. It just hit a little too close to home for him.
"And last but not least, help me give a welcome to District 12's very own, Haymitch Abernathy!" Caesar Flickerman's voice boomed and the crowd roared. His laughter could be heard echoing over the crowd's applause. Haymitch took one last look in the mirror before walking on-stage. He was dressed in a coal-black suit, with a grey shirt and red tie. It was nice clothes; he would have to take Iris out on a date in this outfit when he got back home, that was for sure. With a sigh, he walked out onto the stage, with a sly grin on his face.
"So tell me Haymitch, how do you find the Capitol?" Caesar asked him, and without breaking a sweat, Haymitch responded, "On a map Caesar." Everyone was laughing at that one. Once Caesar collected himself from the joke, he spoke. "I have to admit, I walked into that one. Who doesn't enjoy a good laugh though?" He chuckled. "But on a serious note, I gotta ask you Haymitch. How does it feel to enter a particular Hunger Games where there's 100% more tributes than normal?" Again, Haymitch was right on spot with his answer, "Well Caesar, I don't think it's gonna be any different than normal, except for the fact that the Games will be 100% more stupid than usual." The crowd and Caesar both loved his answer, laughing and cheering for him; to some out there, he may come off as arrogant, but to others, and maybe to a potential sponsor out there, he might be the tribute they want to win.
"One last thing Haymitch, before you go. I have to ask you, just as I've asked every tribute on this stage so far tonight. What motivates you to want to win these Games, knowing how difficult the challenge ahead for you is going to be?" The smile faded from Haymitch's face and was replaced with a firm line. He shift forward in his seat and then said, "Iris, my girl, and my family. I'm doing this for them. And I'm not gonna fail them." Caesar actually looked sympathetic and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "My boy, I wish you the best of luck. The odds aren't normally in the favor of those from District 12, but I think they'll make an exception for you!" And with that, his interview was over.
It's gonna cost me something.
Haymitch took in the sight of the Arena around him. It was beautiful all around him; but he knew not to be deceived by it. This was the Hunger Games.
But I think it's a price worth paying, don't you?
Haymitch looked at his fellow tributes around him, on their pedestals. They were all fools, every last one of them. It's like they had all tuned out the countdown that had begun and were taking in the beauty of the meadow and forest around them or focused on the picturesque mountain in the distance. But he wasn't buying into any of the bullshit. He knew better.
"Three. Two. One." And with that, the siren rang. He bounded off of his pedestal, everyone around him still bewitched by the sights surrounding them all. It wasn't until he got to the Cornucopia that he realized he was the only one there, and only the first of the Careers were just now getting off of their pedestals; too late for them. He found a big, double-edged knife, grabbed a backpack that looked to be full to the brim with supplies, then took off before anyone else could get to him in the Cornucopia. He avoided the bloodbath by acting quickly before everyone else. Now came the long game, the true game played within the Hunger Games: survival.
As he ran into the forest, the first of many cannon shots sounded, one for each death of a tribute. Haymitch ran as he continued to hear the cannon blasts, finally stopping as the 18th shot rang out. Unbelieve; within the opening act of this hellacious shitshow, there were already that many dead. Well, only 30 more to go.
It was while he was taking a break from the running that he stopped under a tree with squirrels bustling about in it. Haymitch sifted through the backpack, happy to find a sleeping bag, a water purifier that could be attached to the top of a bottle, another, smaller knife, two bags of beef jerky, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, matches, and a rope. He had hit the jackpot of survival backpacks!
After placing the last of the items back in the backpack, Haymitch heard a low growl nearby. Unsheathing the big knife he took from the Cornucopia, he veared around to find one of the squirrels looking at him. He had to have been hearing things, or so he thought, until the squirrel bared its teeth at him. Yep, that was definitely not normal. What was extremely not normal was that when the squirrel opened its mouth, it let out a monstrous roar. The squirrel lunged at Haymitch, but he was quick to punt the animal back into the tree he was leaning against. It made a dull thud, laying stiff on the ground. All of a sudden, the squirrels in the tree above him stopped moving around and began to stare him down.
"Oh shit," was all Haymitch could say. Then the squirrels jumped down, chasing after him. And he took off, running like a madman.
After running into some male tribute from District 6, whom Haymitch was quick to push down to the ground, the squirrels broke off from their pursuit of him in favor of the poor bastard on the ground. Haymitch could hear the screams as the squirrels began to eat him alive. He continued to run from the fluffly little fuckers. He heard the cannon shot, heard more shots as the first day came winding down to an end.
He almost encountered a Career tribute earlier, but the hulking brute had come into contact with a butterfly which apparently stung him. Haymitch watched with horror as the Career began to seizure and have welts appear on his body. Haymitch came out of the clearing to inspect the boy, who looked up at Haymitch with pleading eyes, nodding his head to him. Haymitch, hesitant at first, decided to do the humane thing and put an end to his misery. With a stab to the heart, the Career stopped moving erratically, and a look of thanks was the last thing this Career did before he passed away.
It occurred to Haymitch in that moment that everything in this godforsaken Arena was poisonous. Its beauty was its deception, and it would kill many, he knew.
It was on the fourth evening in the Arena, as Haymitch had climbed to the top of a tree, that he felt a tremendous rumble that almost made him fall out of the tree. He then heard a noise that sounded like a mixture between a rifle shot cracking out and the sound of a coal mine explosion. The answer was confirmed when a split-second later he saw a flash of light in the distance, which then softed to a less but still equally violent bright reddish-orange glow. It was the mountain; it, too, had been a deception from the gamemakers, and now it seemed to show its true nature. Haymitch could see the lava begin to flow and decided that perhaps it would be wise to avoid that damned thing altogether and move to an opposite direction.
Haymitch was in shock. His hands were covered in Maysilee's blood, from trying to stop her throat from bleeding. It was a moot point though, as the wound to her neck from where that bird skewered her with its beak was far too massive to stop bleeding. All he could do in the end was hold her hand as she bled out. He would forever live with the guilt of not having stuck with her for just a little while longer. It truly was awful, and he felt himself beginning to cry again. He sat now on the edge of the cliff, at the edge of the Arena. He was saddened by his friend's death but knew that it was an inevitability that had to occur if he wanted to see home again. At least he had found something that could increase his odds on this horrible day.
After drying his tears, he threw another rock into the forcefield, waiting for it to bounce back. After a few seconds, it did. The gears started turning up in Haymitch's head, and now he had a plan.
It was just a few hours later that he encountered her, the female from District 1; Valeria, he thought her name was.
"Not gonna lie, I had hoped that the volcano had got you," Haymitch spoke. Valeria chuckled dryly. "I won't deny it, I was actually hoping for it to be you. You and that bitch of yours killed the boys from my District, and the one from Two. I'm gonna enjoy cutting your head off with my axe." Haymitch pulled the knife from his sheathe and twirled it around in his hand. "Enough foreplay then," his voice had dropped to a dangerous pitch. "Let's get started." The two rushed at each other, weapons drawn and ready to kill the other. He swung first, managing a slice on her left forearm. She kicked him in his privates and tried to bring the axe down on him, only for him to use his momentum of bending over to full-on tackle her; they then went tumbling down a hillside.
Haymitch was the first to get up from their tumble, slightly disoriented. He lunged forward as she was getting up, and stabbed her in the eye, pulling it out when he retracted his knife from her face. Her scream was full of anger and pain. She was wounded, yes, but not defeated yet. Not skipping a beat, she picked up her axe and feinted as if she was going to strike right before moving left, bringing the axe into Haymitch's abdomen. The air almost instantly left him, and he dropped his weapon. Valeria pulled the axe from him, watching as he fell to the ground. She was about to bring it down on his head, but at the last second, he used his legs to sweep her's from out beneath her, causing one of her thighs to land on the knife that he had just dropped. She screamed out in pain again, and whilst distracted, Haymitch pulled the knife from her leg and began to run towards the cliff where he had discovered the Arena's secret.
He could feel the life beginning to leave from him, as he continued to bleed from the wound from Valeria. She was also beginning to feel the effects of blood loss from Haymitch's attacks. Yet still, she pursued him, running up this hill to the edge of the cliff he was trying to get to for some damned reason. Haymitch finally got to the edge of the cliff, where he dropped to his knees. He held on for as much as he could, feeling cold and weak. Valeria had Haymitch where she wanted him and threw her axe at him. However, because her perception was altered from the loss of an eye, it missed him, and he dropped completely to the ground, letting out a weak laugh. Confused as to why he would laugh, she got her answer whenever the axe came flying back up from the edge of the cliff, burying itself in her skull; she was dead instantly. The horn sounded, and Haymitch began to black out as he heard the announcement.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the victor of the 50th Hunger Games, the Second Quarter Quell, Haymitch Abernathy!"
Haymitch stood before the Victor's Throne, alongside President Coriolanus Snow. "I commend you on your efforts young man. You fought valiantly in the Games. I remember the last time there was a Victor from District 12. I was about your age then. She had a fiery edge of defiance, just as you have. It helped her survive, just as it helped you. Congratulations." And with that, he placed the crown atop Haymitch's head. The crowd of the Capitol roared its approval, and got louder as he took his seat on the Victor's Throne. Against all odds, Haymitch had won his Games. He could see his mama again, his little brother, and his beloved Iris.
After the coronation ceremony was over, Haymitch was approached by a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man; Haymitch immediately noticed that this man had a stump where his left arm should have been. "Well well well, if it isn't the luckiest bastard of the year. I gotta say man, that was some impressive shit if ever I've seen it. Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Haymitch could hear the slight slur in the man's voice, and moments later could smell the alcohol rolling off of this man. "Welcome to the jungle. I'm Chaff." This man, Chaff, extended his right hand, his only hand, to shake his; he took it in his, and despite the drunken stupor of the man before him, Haymitch could tell that this man was genuine and could perhaps be a friend one day. When he asked his escort later on, he found out that Chaff was the Victor of the 45th Hunger Games, 5 years before he won his own games. He also was from District 11, which offered another bridge of friendship; after all, the poorer districts shared a common struggle of starvation and survival.
Haymitch thought that he had experienced pain before. Whenever Valeria, the girl from District 1, had buried her axe into his stomach, he had felt a searing, unimaginable pain. He felt it in every waking moment as he tried to hold his intestines in. Nothing compared to what he was feeling in this very moment. Nothing compares to the sheer, agonizing and emotional pain of losing everything that you love and hold dear to you - all at once.
He sat now in his living room, with President Snow, a squad of Peacekeepers, and the now deceased bodies of his mother, little brother, and love of his life.
It had all started out so simple. Haymitch had received word that the president was going to visit him personally regarding his future role in the Games, something that would be unprecedented. He was understandably nervous, as anyone would be in the presence of Coriolanus Snow, but he racked it up with the business that comes with being a Victor. When President Snow arrived, he greeted Haymitch, along with his family, then injected Haymitch with a neurotoxin that paralyzed him; Haymitch was made to sit and watch the horrors that followed, only able to talk.
"I want you to know, Mr. Abernathy, that this decision was one that was made with much thought and consideration. You proved that the most dangerous weapon that a tribute can possess in the Arena is their intellect. However, in doing so, you also made a fool out of myself and the Gamemakers. You used our own Arena against your fellow tributes, exploiting a flaw in our perfect system. The way we run things in the Capitol is perfect, without flaw. You showed all of Panem, rather blatantly, that we are imperfect. You see where the issue in all of this is, don't you?" Snow asked.
"How fragile of a system must it be for a Seam rat to be smarter than you prestigious assholes?" Haymitch responded.
Snow let out a genuine chuckle, surprising those present. "It's a rather fragile system. One that requires a strong hand to act as a sheperd does with their sheep. Sometimes one goes astray; that's where we step in. If one sheep runs away, others will be compelled to follow. It's like I told you at the Victor's Celebration, Mr. Abernathy. You have a fiery edge of defiance. We in the Capitol do not, nor will we ever, tolerate defiance. So I must make an example out of you. Besides, if a Seam rat from District 12 of all places manages to defy the Capitol and walk away unharmed, what is to prevent others from taking unsavory measures?"
While Snow had been monologuing, the Peacekeepers had bound, gagged, and seated Haymitch's family and girlfriend in chairs from the dining room. Their muffled cries could still be heard throughout Haymitch's conversation with the president. President Snow walked over to Iris, placed one of his hands on her shoulder. "Now, now, dear. There is no need to fret; I'm told that it's virtually painless. You'll have 30 seconds or so before it takes hold, so I would make quick use of your time that you have left." With that, he injected a syringe into her exposed arm, then ripped the gag out of her mouth.
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Haymitch began to cry. "I'm so sorry Iris," he choked out her name.
"Haymitch, what did you do?" Iris' eyes began to flood with tears, knowing that her end was near. "Please don't let them kill me baby. Please..." Anything else she was going to say was forever lost, as the light began to leave her eyes and she went completely dead-weight in her chair. Eugene, knowing full well what was coming, looked into the eyes of President Snow, as the syringe was injected into his arm as well. "My boy, I believe you have the same defiance your brother does." Eugene, always the little brother in Haymitch's eyes, became a man in his final moments, spitting on President Snow, and saying, "Fuck you, you old prick." He made Haymitch proud, being defiant and stronger than he could ever be. He then slumped over, dead in his seat as well not long after uttering those words.
Haymitch's mother, Remohna, looked at her son with sad eyes. "I love you Haymitch, so very much. Be strong." She then looked at President Snow, and said, "Get it over with." She looked President Snow in the eyes until the poison took effect, then slumped forward in her chair, dead; the snake of a man then turned towards the Quarter Quell victor. "I must say, Mr. Abernathy, your mother's look of defiance is something I haven't seen in decades. I hope that this is a lesson you will not soon forget. Trust me when I say that that you'll want to stay in line and not act in any unsavory ways, should you ever not want to lose someone you love again."
With that, Snow left a rose on all three of the corpses in the room, then walked out with the Peacekeepers; the neurotoxin wore off 10 minutes after he left.
Even though only three people died that day, Haymitch buried a fourth person: himself.
The moment the last of the soil was laid upon the pine boxes that had everything he held dear in this world, he walked towards the Hob, gave the young girl named Ripper a rather large amount of money, and walked home with a wagon full of white liquor. He climbed into the pit of those first few bottles, and never bothered to climb back out of it. When it came time for the Reaping again, Haymitch felt a little bit of hope with the two Seam teenagers that looked to him for answers; the girl died in the bloodbath. The boy finished in the final two, only to be offed by the boy from District 7, Blight.
Haymitch could only look at the screen with agony. He allowed himself to hope, to think this boy from the Seam, like him, would survive against all odds and come home. He hated that; never again would he allow himself to hope.
Whenever the Victory tour came through District 12, Haymitch shook hands with Blight. Leaning in, he whispered, "I'm glad it was you that did it and not one of the Careers. Thank you for being quick about it." Blight pulled back, then said, "I wish it was a Career that did it. I see his face every time I close my eyes."
When Blight left later on that evening, Haymitch went home and drank himself to sleep. When he closed his eyes, he was greeted by the haunting faces of everyone he had killed - both directly and indirectly.
Haymitch, when he slept, was tortured further in his nightmares. There were times when Valeria wouldn't throw the axe and would instead bury it into his head. There was the occasional dream where he would be back home instead of the Arena, drinking a bottle, only to realize he was drinking the fire of the mountain that had erupted while he was in the godforsaken meadow; then there were times where he saw the faces of the Careers he killed, of Maysilee, still bleeding from her neck, all of them saying he was wasting the gift of living longer by drowning himself in a bottle. It never ended for him. Happiness was now a distant, faint memory, just like the memory of his beloved girlfriend's name.
Haymitch never truly moved on. Sure, there was the occasional fling here and there with that prissy little miss of an escort (Effie? Or something like that), and there was a very drunken night with Ripper that he barely remembers, other than that it happened, but he always saw to it that Snow wouldn't have anyone he could use against him. Sure, the only people he really cared about were his fellow Victors, but in the end, he lost the ability to care for anyone else. The pain was just too great to imagine, and he would rather have had Valeria bury her axe in his stomach all over again.
More and more years passed, and more and more bottles were emptied. Haymitch, as time went on, realized that there was never a winner to the Games, period. There were survivors. But there were never any winners. At the end of the day, those survivors either became drunks, drug addicts, whores, or pets to the Capitol's illustrious lifestyle. Whatever they chose to do, whatever poison they picked, they all were the same.
It wasn't until the 74th Hunger Games that Haymitch felt something again, for the first time in over 20 years: hope.
It started off like any other Reaping; he arrived drunk, hugged Effie, then barely shook the hands of the Mayor. He then stumbled to his seat, and when it came time for the calling of the two unfortunate souls, he braced himself to add their faces to his nightmares. "Primrose Everdeen!" When the girl was called, he immediately felt a part of himself die. It had been 14 years since a 12-year-old from District 12, and this poor girl had just been read out her death sentence. Then, something miraculous and horrifying happened; a girl volunteered.