Haymitch's Love: The Untold Story

Haymitch: Prologue

Haymitch: Prologue

Haymitch stumbles drunkenly back to his compartment, a recently filled tankard held loosely in his right hand, spilling generously over the shining, mahogany floors within the fancy Capitol train. His pounding head begins to spin out of control, causing the world to be doubled. Despite this, he still continues to indulge, pouring back the toxic liquid like there's no tomorrow. Once in the solitude of his room, he promptly vomits over the elaborately patterned rug, soaking the rich velvet in a sticky, noxious brown fluid. He chuckles to himself, picturing Effie's reaction to the mess.

He chugs the last of his beer, tipping the glass upside down to ensure that not a drop is left, and lets it fall to the floor with a clang, shattering to pieces amongst the vomit. Then he drops down to his knees, content to lie on the floor for the entire night; walking over to the bed seems like an extremely large effort at this moment. His cheek falls against the hardwood, landing with a splat in the warm, foul smelling liquid.

'What are you doing to yourself, Haymitch?'

The soft, musical voice rings out into the silence just as he is about to close his eyes and leave consciousness.

He lifts his head and inch and is not surprised to stare into her wide and youthful, pale green eyes. She looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. Pale and skinny, her frock tattered and cheeks hollow. She fingers the pink jeweled necklace he had given her over twenty-five years ago. Her expression displays utter disappointment.

'I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to upset you,' he answers, a single tear running down his filthy, unshaven cheek.

She shakes her head and bites down on her lower lip, piercing him with a stare that causes shame to flare. Her bright, overlarge eyes look not at him, but into him, searching for his soul, examining his darkest secrets. He knows that he can hide nothing from this girl.

She takes soft, unfaltering steps towards him and crouches down beside the heap that his once burly body has become. He sighs at her irrefutable beauty, her delicate features, as the familiar, sweet scent of honeysuckle and pine needles quickly overwhelms the stench of liquor. Her thin lips spread to a kind smile and she extends a bony, soft skinned hand. He eagerly reaches out his own calloused fingers, his nails dirt caked and grimy, desperate to feel her gentle touch. He wants to hold her, to keep her safe, to feel the warmth of her lips pressed against his own.

'I love you,' he whispers. And just as he is about to take the angel's hand, an unsought voice penetrates the moment.

'Who are you talking to, Haymitch?'

And that is all it takes. His love hastily disappears into thin air, leaving less than a trace of herself behind.

It is as if someone has just punctured the bubble Haymitch has momentarily been living in. He shifts his gaze and sees the blonde boy - what's his name, again? -standing in the doorway, a curious look on his face. The boy, completely unaware of what he has just interrupted, stoops next to him and begins to clear up the mess.

Haymitch shuts his eyes, his hammering headache returning, and allows the boy - was his name Peter? - to scrub him, wanting more than anything to die. To live in the world of his true love. No matter, perhaps if he drinks enough tomorrow she'll return...