Haymitch's Hunger Games

Chapter 1: Hunger

As Haymitch awoke from his deep sleep, he sighed at the greyness of his home, District 12, outside. It was certainly a dreary day for a reaping. Stifling a yawn, he realized that Colin, his younger brother, was still dreaming beside him. Careful not to wake him, Haymitch silently crawled across their makeshift bed (a few blankets on the old hardwood floor) and made his way towards the living space. The fire burned bright, as mother quietly knitted by the dancing, orange flames. For they were so poor that they could not afford the simple pleasures of buying clothes from the market and instead had to rely on his mother to create a new piece of attire every time one of her boys would hit a growth spurt. When she felt his presence, Haymitch's mother turned around and managed a half smile. 'Good morning,' she murmured in the small mouse-voice she'd used since his father had disappeared, three years ago. 'Morning, I'm going out.' Haymitch told her. Mother looked dissapointed, 'Please stay, I'm made you something..' She said quietly. Haymitch stopped, but he had made his resolve, he wasn't staying home. Staying meant sitting in the house of silence, where the absence of a father's presence and a mother's happiness was unbearable. 'I'll be back in an hour', the young man said reluctantly, while getting his worn coat and then silently shutting the door behind him.

The wind outside ruffled the boy's hair, and he felt chilly with only the thin material of his old coat insulating him. While slipping on his boots, Haymitch regarded the old, muddy roads and felt grateful his mother had let him abandon her that morning. Hurriedly he walked towards the Hob, the black market of District 12, and passed the many small, cramped houses of the district. Most people were up, curtains open, he could see some children having their hair brushed and even one of Colin's friends having red ribbons tied in her hair, a luxury most citizens of Panem could not afford. Although red ribbons were a marvellous sight, walking through the streets was utterly depressing. Elderly people; scavenging for food along the road, the less fortunate children begging with buckets, for you to drop a coin in, that no one ever had, Peace Keepers patrolling, a superiority stamped across them that most feared, and the worst of all were the dead.

The dead were people who had given up on life-commonly from the depression that was in the sub conscience of most people's minds. These hopeless people; however, let the depression rule their lives, they lay on the road, sobbing silently, while waiting for someone to take pity and give them a crumb, or for death to come. No one had any weapons to bring death on themselves, guns were not permitted, as hunting was a huge crime and was punishable by death- a hanging in the town square to be exact. There were knives of course, and sharp objects, but nothing to make death quick and simple such as the gun. People often feared the pain, so they lay on the ground thinking that if a God existed, maybe he would magically bring loaves of bread and fish like in those forbidden stories grandparents would sometimes tell. Haymitch's grandfather used to tell of such stories: of rebels who would raid the Capitol and bring food to the dying districts. They were brave, strong men and women who eventually died for their 'wrongdoings' towards the Capitol, hunted down and shot on sight. At least they died quickly, Haymitch thought to himself, unlike how I will die if I am chosen today.

The President, Snow, believed he was the only God and so people did not dream of miracles, they dreamed of Parcel Day, which would bring every citizen food if a victor was established in the Hunger Games from District 12, however, there had never been a winner of the games from the coal district and some doubted there ever would be. For everyone was so weak and vulnerable due to the starvation and sadness that seemed to occupy most.

As Haymitch continued through the streets he finally approached the Hob, which was humming with activity, it was the most alive place in the district, and of course- it was illegal.  The mayor's daughter was buying bread, an old women was selling soft mittens made from sheep wool, and some children scoured booths, looking for a few scraps of breakfast. People shoved their way into the old building, making it a warm and crowded place that Haymitch did not mind being in, for it was the thing that kept the district alive- without the Hob it would be hard for even the strongest of men to survive the cold, unforgiving rules the president set forth.