The Land of Blood and Honey (The Hunger Games Peeta's P.O.V)

Chapter 4

Chapter: 4

            For a few moments Katniss and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the slippery vile stuff from his stomach. The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings up my dinner I’ve been working so hard to keep down.  Katniss and I exchange a glance. Obviously Haymitch isn’t much, but Effie Trinket is right about one thing, once were in the arena he’s all we got. As if by some unspoken agreement, Katniss and I each take one of Haymitch’s arms and help him to his feet.

            As Haymitch rises to his feet I can feel myself carrying most of his weight, once I get a better grip I become as well as Haymitch smudged in his vomit.

                 “I tripped?” Haymitch asks. “Smells Bad.” He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face in vomit.

            When I was originally stained with Haymtich’s vomit I felt irritated at his lack of interest in us, always being hammered or drunk, I want to describe him as drunk but when I see people are around the seam that are drunk, they are still capable of reason and logic. Haymitch is always drunk to the extent of not being able to do anything; being hammered.         

            I can’t blame Haymitch though, I put myself in his shoes for a second until I realize I don’t have to. Haymitch never became a drunk because of an addiction to alcohol, I’m sure he drinks to escape those retched nightmares that tare him to pieces once the sun settles and everything is consumed by darkness around him.

            I can’t feel anything for Haymitch but sadness and tenderness. If I survive the arena I may end up like him or worse. Most likely worse.

            “Let’s get you back to your room.” I tell him in a kind tone. “Clean you up a bit.”

            We half-lead half-carry Haymitch back to his compartment. Since we can’t exactly set him down on the embroiled bedspread, we haul him into the bathtub and turn the shower on him. He hardly notices.

            I turn and look at Katniss, by the look of the expression on her face I can tell she’s not too thrilled of having to strip Haymitch down and clean him.

            “It’s okay,” I tell her allowing the edges of my mouth to rise up with a genuine smile. “I’ll take it from here.”

            Katniss ignores my smile and looks at me puzzled. I have a hard time trying to decipher whether she is great full or suspicious. I almost wish I hadn’t taken responsibility on cleaning Haymitch. Katniss is surely thinking I’m some kind of sneaky conniving boy who is only performing these actions out of self benefit.

            Next time I’ll have to select my words more wisely, but for now theres no time for explanations.

            “All right,” she says “I can send one of the Capitols people to help you.” 

            “No. I don’t want them,” I tell her hiding the frustration in my voice.

            I can’t stand the sight of the Capitol people. I can’t help but feel my stomach twist at the grotesque sight of their horrible appearances they justify as fashion. Part of the pain in being a participant of The Hunger Games is having to put up with these hideous people.

             Not only is the fashion quite frightening, the people are completely materialistic and always judge others, and they don’t appreciate the good life they enjoy and live, they treat food as something they deserve, not as a privilege.