The 50th Hunger Games

Chapter One

Haymitch's POV

I walk through the empty streets of District 12. It's got to be at least 6:30 in the morning. Most people are sleeping in at the moment. Not me. Who can sleep when the next day you might be chosen to fight to the death?

Oily, black clouds gather in the sky as it starts rain, making my hair stringy. I put up my hood and keep walking.

It's a chilly morning, like most mornings in District 12. The black clouds settle to a gray above me, and soon peacekeepers will start scouring 12 in about half of an hour. The mud puddles look as icky as always, and the gravel sidewalk cracks under my feet. I am thinking. Thinking about the reaping. Will it be me, or my little brother, March?

March is a scrawny boy, but never underestimate him. He is fast and strong for a 13 year old. He could probably pin me down if he tried, but he isn't the fastest thinker, so I usually am the one on top of him. Mom hates when we tackle. She doesn't really like us all together. Apparently, we don't work hard enough in the shop, but it seems like we do. We pretty much do half of the work there. Today, I decided not to get yelled at for forgetting to buy our weekly loaf of bread, so I went early. The store isn't even open yet.

I sit on the muddy curve side and wait for the doors of the bakery to open. The smell of dewy rain and rising dough is making my head pound. Just five more minutes. What if I was reaped though? I don't have a strategy yet, and my mentor is old and weak. How can he help me? The odds would not be in my favor if I was chosen. March would have it worse, the slow-thinker that he is.

The door to the bakery opened ajar and my friend Bran pops his head out from the bakery.

"Hey, Mitch," he says.

I slightly wave.

"What are you doing up so early?" he asks.

"Can't sleep," I say and flick a piece of gravel into a mud puddle.

"Do you want to come inside?" Bran asks.

"Is it okay with your Mom? The store isn't supposed to be open for three more minutes," I reply.

"Three minutes is nothing, even if it is, I can take the blame. It's freezing out here!" Bran answers.

I smile and nod. I walk through the door into the fresh smell of bread and even a couple cakes on the counter. Bran's mother is taking a piece of bread out of the fire and sets it on a counter. She looks at me and smiles, her eyes telling Bran to get to work. She walks over to me.

"Well, your here early today Haymitch!" She says cheerfully, but you can see the sadness in her eyes about what is yet to come. She glances away and wipes her hands on her apron. "What would you like?"

"Just a loaf please..." I say,"the usual."

She nods and gestures to Bran to get me my fresh bread. He pulls a fat load of white bread out of a rack. He hands it to me and I pay him the silver dollars.

"May the odds be ever in your favor today, Bran," I say and tuck the steaming bread into my wet coat.

"You too." he says.

I smile and leave. We don't really talk much, at least not when we are nervous. We are usually nervous about these kinds of things.