A/N: New Story! I'll keep this A/N short.There will be MAJOR SPOILERS if you read ahead. If you have not read SOTR, save this story for later! I warned you! Hope you enjoy, will update this fast.
"Happy birthday, Haymitch!"
It's been twenty four years, yet still, it's Sid's voice that wakes me every year on Reaping Day. As hard as I may try, no amount of liquor will rid me of the painful memories of my family. I will never wash their faces from my nightmares.
Another sunrise on the reaping. I need a drink.
I have an hour or two until I have to make my appearance in the town square, and I know no better way to spend that time than drinking my sorrows away. It never seems to take the pain away for good, only helps numb it for the time being. Oftentimes, I end up drinking so much, I wake up without a clue as to what happened the night before. That's the funny thing about liquor.
You always seem to end up paying for it twice.
I end up halfway through a bottle by the time my doorbell rings. I know who it is, but I don't want to see them. It only brings back more painful memories, and I'm doing a fine job right now at forgetting.
"Who's ready for a big, big, big day?" Effie Trinket asks as she walks through the door in a horribly pink getup. Some years, she looks almost normal, but apparently, that is the opposite of what she is going for this year.
"You look ridiculous," I make sure to let her know. She gives me a glare before waving her arms at me.
"And what look is it that you're going for here?" she asks. "Your prep team has a lot of work to do."
She knows that isn't true. I barely even get camera time during the reaping. Not after the one year I threw up on the mayor. They try to keep my face far away from any cameras in sight.
"Just… take a bath Haymitch, for the love of Panem," she says. "You have thirty minutes." And with that, she walks out of my home.
I do just that, not because she told me to, but because my shirt has vomit on it from the night before. I don't even remember when I did that.
I feel more drunk after the bath, but manage to put on the outfit that Effie left for me. A gray suit that is tailored to me. While I don't want to wear it at all, it is better than most of the outfits I've seen in the Capitol.
I spend most of my walk to the town square stumbling, trying not to fall over. I guess I didn't realize how much I drank. I can barely stand up straight, let alone walk.
I hear the town clock strike two, meaning I'm late. Not that it matters honestly, but now all eyes will be on me when I show up. Unfortunately I have to attend, or I would just skip the whole thing and board the train early.
By the time I stagger onto the stage, the mayor is reading the list of past victors. Honestly, it's pretty unnecessary, considering there are one two from District 12, and I'm the only living one. "I'm here!" I holler, although I'm not sure if that's what comes out of my mouth.
I fall into the empty chair on the stage and try to look less drunk than I am, but for some reason, everyone gives a round of applause. Unsure if it is for me or not, I try to give Effie a big hug, but she fights it off.
The mayor introduces Effie, who trots to the podium and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, and then it's time.
Time to see who the two unlucky children are, that I have to mentor to their deaths. "Ladies first!" she says, and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath.
Effie crosses back to the podium, smooths the slip of paper, and reads the name in a clear voice. "Primrose Everdeen!"
It's Burdock's daughter. How everything comes back full circle eventually.
Burdock was my childhood friend. After I won my Games, I had to drive him away, along with any other person I cared about to protect them.
Yet here we are. His daughter, now a tribute for the Hunger Games, where she'll fight twenty-three other tributes to the death.
Is this another punishment from President Snow? Is he giving me the same treatment he gave Beetee? I don't have any children of my own, so is he forcing me to mentor the children of my old friends instead?
Haven't I paid enough?
The odds of her name being pulled were one in thousands. She's only twelve. Her name was in there once. This punishment must be for me.
The crowd murmurs unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen because no one thinks this is fair. The blood is drained from her face, her hands are clenched in fists at her sides, and she walks in stiff, small steps toward the stage.
"Prim!" A girl yells. "Prim!"
I recognize those eyes the moment I see them. The same as her father's. The crowd makes way immediately for the girl yelling her sister's name. Katniss Everdeen.
I first saw the girl at the Hob when she was just a baby. Burdock was so proud of her, he toted her around everywhere. After he died in that mine explosion, she started coming alone, trading the odd squirrel or rabbit. Tough and smart, her hair in two braids then, reminding me for all the world of Louella McCoy, my sweetheart of old.
Just as Primrose is about to mount the steps, her sister pushes her behind her. "I volunteer!" she gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!"
There's some confusion on the stage. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol has become rusty. The rule is that once a tribute's name has been pulled from the ball, another eligible boy, if a boy's name has been read, or girl, if a girl's name has been read, can step forward to take his or her place.
In some districts, in which winning the reaping is such a great honor, people are eager to risk their lives, the volunteering is complicated. But in District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are all but extinct.
Not her though. Burdock would be damn proud if he were still alive.
"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um . . . " she trails off, unsure herself.
"What does it matter?" says the mayor. "What does it matter?" he repeats gruffly. "Let her come forward."
Primrose is screaming hysterically behind her, hugging her tightly. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"
"Prim, let go," Katniss says. "Let go!" A boy comes and picks up Primrose, taking her elsewhere.
"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," she says, trying her best to keep a straight face.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" trills Effie Trinket.
But the people of District 12 don't applaud. Instead, they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage. Silence. Which says they do not agree. They do not condone. All of this is wrong.
At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to her. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.
I stand up and stagger my way over to her, still very drunk. "Look at her. Look at this one!" I holler, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I like her! Lots of . . . " I can't find the word I wanted to say for a few seconds. Finally, it comes to mind. "Spunk! More than you!" I release her and start for the front of the stage. "More than you!" I shout, pointing directly into a camera. I don't even know who I'm talking to, but it's directed at the Capitol somehow.
Unfortunately, my time to pay a second time for the liquor comes early, because just as I open my mouth to continue, I plummet off the stage and knock myself unconscious.
I wake up on the train to a pounding on my head. Must have hit it on my way down, because I have a splitting headache now.
"You could at least try to be presentable for the cameras," Effie says as she enters my room and hands me an ice pack.
"I guess you're right," I say as I accept the ice pack. "Maybe I'll start by diving face first into a pound of makeup."
She doesn't reply. Instead, she walks out calmly, which is how I know I've upset her. I could be a little nicer to Effie, I owe my life to her in a way, but at the end of the day, she's from the Capitol. She doesn't, and will never understand what the districts go through.
I decide to go to the bar car to get another drink. I'm not exactly sober, but it might get rid of this headache. On my way back to my room, I find the unlucky male tribute that was selected. And I recognize him as well.
Otho's son. Peeta Mellark.
Snow is definitely punishing me. This isn't just a coincidence.
"Congratulations," I say sarcastically. He gives me an odd look before speaking.
"When should we start?" he asks.
"Start what?" I ask as I walk past him.
"When should we start going over what we need to know in the Arena?" he asks. "You're our mentor."
"That I am," I say sarcastically. "But I'm going to take a nap." I walk past him, ignoring his questioning that comes after.
Yet, as always, sleep doesn't find me for long. Every fallen tribute I mentored in the past taunts me in my nightmares, begging and pleading me to do something to save them. But I can't. I couldn't. Snow wouldn't let it happen.
Even though I know this, their screams as they died still echo through my head.
Trying to sleep only made my head feel worse, so I attempt to find Effie, hoping supper is sometime soon. Food might help with how nauseous I feel.. Stumbling my way through the compartments, I finally make it to the living compartment, where I find my tributes and Effie, who must have just finished watching the recaps of the reapings. They all turn to look at me.
"I miss supper?" I ask. But trying to speak makes me feel even more sick, and I end up vomiting on floor and falling into the mess.
"So laugh away!" says Effie as she leaves the room.
I try to rise, but the carpet is slippery and I can't seem to keep my balance long enough to stand. Thankfully, Peeta and Katniss each help me up.
"I tripped?" I ask. "Smells bad." I wipe my hand on my nose, smearing my face with vomit.
"Let's get back to your room," Peeta says. "Clean you up a bit."
They practically carry me to my room, and throw me in the tub. I can barely even tell where I am, to be completely honest. Everything seems blurry.
I can barely remember any of the rest of the events of the night, only Peeta washing me, dressing me, and throwing me in my bed for the night.
Happy birthday to me.