Haymitch's Love: The Untold Story

Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Haymitch

The Final Goodbye

He gives her one last fleeting look, just like the one Mel gave him, and she disappears through the mist forever. There is no use harping on it. It will be better to forget about her. Erase her from his memories.

He shuts his eyes and fingers Nemit's pink jewel, unwillingly thinks about home. About that last day in Maysilee's attic, their laughter still ringing in his ears. About his mother and Melmar, that last look Mel had given him replaying in his mind ever since. About Nemit and - Oh, Nemit. Why must he be separated from the ones he loves? He just wants to go home! Why must innocent children be killed, be murdered, and even worse, their deaths be celebrated? He will not enjoy being winner of such a sick game...

He looks out onto the open horizon, the billowing storm clouds emitting a soft thunder, deciphering his next moves. There is only one way he's going home. How he's going to accomplish being Victor, he has no idea.

Directly below him lies a bottomless canyon, the jagged edges of crumbling rock pointing out from the sides. If Haymitch were a coward he is certain that he would come here to end his life.

Abruptly, as if given a command, he aims a kick at a nearby pebble, sending it tumbling into the pit. He watches it become tiny as it falls farther and farther, and then anticipates the 'splash' or 'bang' that is sure to follow. He waits, but it doesn't come. Just as puzzlement overwhelms him, he hears a peculiar 'whooshing' noise rising from the rocks instead. He doesn't quite know what to think when the pebble, the very same one he had just kicked over, zooms up and lands right by his feet.

How very odd. He kicks another pebble into the ravine and the same events follow. Once again, the stone whooshes back up as if pushed by a burst of air, then lands directly at his feet. Despite himself, he smiles in astonishment as the realization dawns on him. A force field in the midst of the arena... The Capitol really does think of everything.

He is just preparing to throw over a stone much larger than the others when a blood curdling screech, echoing all through the canyon, interupts him. The sound makes the hairs on his neck stand straight and, despite the heat, sends a shiver down his spine. Is it Maysilee? Or just one of the others? He freezes in place, unsure of whether to leave and check the identity. Whoever it is, he'll find out later tonight.

'HAYMITCH!' A desperate, shrill voice screams out from the jungle.

That confirms his suspicions; there is only one person in this arena who would call him for their aid. Down the horizion, he sees a flock of candy pink birds take off from the tree tops and flutter to the sky, cawing at the top of their lungs. The sight of the birds make his heart drop down a flight of stairs; those venomous mutts have no doubt killed her.

He tries to reason himself into not going. It is not worth it. Maysilee had accepted his request to break off the alliance and with doing so, she accepted the consequences. But there is something in the pit of his stomach telling him to flee to her side. He thinks of Nemit and what she would do in such a situation. He thinks of how Nemit is reacting to all of this right now. She would most definitely want him to say a final, proper good-bye to Maysilee Donner. Frankly though, he's not so sure his conscious would let him get away without doing so anyway.

Putting the force field to the back of his mind, he begins to run in the direction of the scream. He bolts through the trees, the frequent branches grabbing at his arms and legs, willing himself to go faster, daring himself not to topple over. He must get there before he hears the cannon.

He can tell that he is getting close. Along with the rustling of leaves and alarmed Mockingjays, a moaning sound is now floating through the branches. Whatever creature is making that noise is most definitely in unbearable pain.

As he nears a clearing, he sees a figure lying in tall, yellow grass, the image obscured by the tree branches.

At first sight, it all simply seems unreal. His mouth hangs open. A wave of sickness rolls through his stomach, leaving him ice cold and weak in the knees. With one look, he knows that he cannot help this girl in any way. Sprawled in front of him is Maysilee Donner, her once delicate features now distorted, her body mangled and bloody, though her chest heaving unnaturally. Her clothes are drenched in red and torn to rags, revealing battered, raw flesh. The majority of her body, particularly arms and neck, has been pecked down to shreds by the feathery pink mutations. He doesn't know what to think. What to do. It just can't be. This is all just a bad dream. Haymitch is going to wake up soon, warm in his bed, Nemit at his side.

He drops down to his knees and observes the horror of it all. Maysilee's bulging eyes meet his own. Her face, full of anguish, has been clawed and pecked at to the point where he almost does not recognize her. He stares wordlessly into her panicked face, her grey Seam eyes wide with fear. She stares back into his own eyes, lip trembling, as if grasping onto this last image of him, pleading silently. There are tears streaming down her cheeks, the colour draining quicker and quicker. With each breath, she shudders sharply, gasping for air. Her pain is like a stab to his heart.

He takes her hand in his own and strokes a knot of her hair. His eyes begin to sting and he grits his teeth, trying to fight back the tears. Maysilee squeezes his hand as she lets out a particularly sharp gasp of pain, her face contorted. Why must he watch this innocent girl suffer?

Her lips tremble but no words follow the movement. From her emits a strange throaty groan then a repetitive and tormented gulping noise. No doubt the mutts have ruined her vocal chords.

'Ay… mit…' Her weak voice is pitiful.

'I'm right here.' He whispers, surprised that he has managed to speak.

He slowly leans forward, lightly pressing his ear against her blood stained lips.

'I love you.'

She speaks so faintly that he thinks he may have imagined the words. It will be impossible for the cameras to pick up what she has just said. Then, before he can reply, he hears the sigh of a last breath.

The pressure from her hand is gone. Her body is still. Limp. Somewhere, the cannon blasts. But Haymitch barely hears it. Staring down at her lifeless, mutilated form, reality is flooding in; Maysilee Donner is dead.

He looks to her face, which is finally free of agony. With two trembling fingertips, he tenderly slides her eyelids down, his throat burning and eyes swelling. He chews his lower lip as he looks her over for the last time. He leans close to her body and softly presses his lips against her forehead.

'Goodbye.' He whispers as he releases her hand. Then he rises from the ground and walks away without a backward glance, bringing himself to full standing height.

Haymitch feels nothing. There is no emotion left inside of him.

While he might appear fearless to all of Panem, deep down the child within him yearns to cry out in anguish.