In Power We Trust - Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter Seven - Always

Amelie

That night, I dreamt of the lake behind 12. Of the peaceful and warm springs, the time between March and June before the reaping. I dreamt of how me, Maysilee, and about 10 other kids would have breath holding contests and we would try to see who could pick the most swamp potato in a certain amount of time. I dreamt of the look on Ma's face when she saw how much of it I brought home for dinner. How that would last us for weeks sometimes. Then I dreamt of Ma's face after I told her to watch me die, after I screamed and cursed at her. I dreamt of my fist hurdling into Marcus' face and the stinging pain in my knuckles that followed.
Then I saw myself. Standing in the mirror, looking at myself in the coal-miner uniform. My father appeared next to me. I looked down, there was a peacekeeper rifle in my hands. I held it out to my dad, but he pushed it back and pointed at me.
'Your turn' he mouthed but no sound came out.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I just didn't know if the reality I was waking up to was any better.

I looked at the clock:

7:03 am

'Guess I could just get up now.' I said to myself.
Today was the day they saw me. The rest of the tributes during training and the rest of Panem. My personal introduction to them. My interview. I walked over to the closet and grabbed the first clothes I could reach. A black long sleeve, and black cargo pants.
As I made my way downstairs and into the kitchen I saw Rummage sitting on the farthest barstool drinking something out of a mug. It was the first time I'd seen him since the incident.
"Going to a funeral?" He asked, referring to my black on black outfit. I had walked in front of him to grab a mug from the cabinet.
"Yeah, my own." I said, pouring some coffee into my cup.
"Giving up already? Weird, I always took you for an optimist."
I stood directly across the island from him and leaned my arms on the counter.
"Coffee instead of scotch! Wow, what's the occasion?"
"Only the biggest day of my tributes' journeys, interview day." He had a sarcastic twang in his voice but I ignored that fact.
"Why is it the biggest day?"
He set his mug down and rubbed his neck, "Well, uh, the more of an impression you make to Caesar and to the Capitol the higher chance of you getting sponsored and I don't need to explain to you why sponsors are important."
I took a sip of my coffee. "What impression do we need to make?"
"There isn't necessarily one correct answer," he said, "It's about keeping up with the initial persona you've created all the way through, for better or worse."
"Initial persona?"
"The blood during the parade, the stone cold, unbothered faces you all made. You got people talking. Now you have to keep that up, act unbothered, intimidating. People love an underdog."
I nodded at him and walked over to the window that overlooked the city. The place where Haymitch and I first became allies only a few nights prior.
"Don't we have training today? Before the interviews?"
"Not till 10, I was gonna have Bernard get yall up around 8:45 for breakfast. Why are you up so early anyway?" He questioned, turning his chair to face me.
I looked back at him, "I guess I could ask you the same question."
"I never really sleep. Only a couple hours off-and-on every night."
I stared at him, thinking of how to reply.

This made me realize that I would almost prefer I died in the games. I think living with myself afterwards would be a fate worse than death. Seeing the faces of all the people I killed in the mirror wasn't exactly something I was using for motivation.

"Well, that explains a lot." I half joked.
"Hm." He replied, taking a sip of his coffee, "you never answered my question, why are you up?"
I looked at him, he was waiting for an answer. I walked over to the white leather couch behind him and plopped down before I finally replied, "nightmare."
"Oh," he sighed, walking over to the couch and setting his mug down on the coffee table, "I'm no stranger to nightmares, kid. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." I crossed my arms, "It's nothing I can't handle."
"Hate to break it to you," he said, leaning back into the couch next to me, "but I see right through that tough guy act."