Hunger Games: The Second Quarter Quell - The Story of Haymitch Abernathy

Chapter 2: The Final Goodbyes

Haymitch's stomach lurched. 

Harder than when he had even the slightest thought of his girlfriend leaving to fight. 

Harder than when Elden had rightfully read his mind this morning. 

And, selfishly, even harder than when he'd first found out his father wasn't coming home from the mines. 

Haymitch's throat released any air it had once held, though he quickly shielded his distress, aware of its potential effect on his luck during the Games. 

Sure, he felt a little dizzy. But the Hunger Games had no time for shock response. 

Bravely, Haymitch gathered himself entirely, forcing his expression back to it's unimpressed scowl. He couldn't be seen caring too much. The scared weakling appearance may work for someone tributes, but it absolutely would not work for him. 

Regaining the strength in his legs temporarily lost, Haymitch marched towards the rickety, wooden steps up to the stage, taking his place on the opposite side of Euphemia to the two female tributes. 

Though he had never been considered particularly tall, Quince dwarfed him entirely, which made him a little annoyed. 

He watched in half-hearted interest as Euphemia clapped into the deafening silence, his head mostly pounding with her voice as she read out his name.

Haymitch Abernathy. Haymitch Abernathy. Haymitch Abernathy.

Or was that a jabberjay? No, surely not. Those were rare as rocks. 

'Alright then! What a delightful young bunch we have here with us today! I'll just hand back over to the Mayor then, who'll—'

'Yes, yes, thank you, Euphemia,' Mayor Breccia interrupted, clearing his throat, before jumping into a monotonous recitation of the painfully long Treaty of Reason, which all four tributes seemed too lost to listen to at the current moment. 

Well, at least Zinnia was. Her eyes had since clouded over, and she now stared straight ahead. Maysilee had maintained her composure since her name was drawn, but her body still trembled in shock. And Quince was... well, Quince. 

Maysilee, tucking the braid in her long hair out of her face, met Haymitch's gaze almost immediately, and forced an almost-comforting ghost of a smile. 

Haymitch ignored the weak gesture, his gaze venturing back towards the crowd. Forming allies in the Games was highly advised against, unless you were from one of the stronger districts, like 1 and 2. 

Besides, Haymitch had no doubt that he could kill if it came down to it, but he knew he'd ever be able to be responsible for the life of someone who trusted him. 

The easy solution? Self-isolation. Haymitch vowed to himself to avoid interacting with the other tributes for as long as possible. If he was going to have any chance of survival, he had to. 

The anthem of Panem drowned out any feeling left in Haymitch's body, and as it ended, he was immediately ushered – or shoved, as it seemed – through the front door of the Justice Building by a rather angry-looking group of Peacekeepers. 

Maybe all the Peacekeepers were angry. That's what it seemed like, anyway. But Haymitch gave them credit - he'd be angry too, if he was banished to this life of coal dust and stupid birds. 

The inside of the Justice Building contrasted starkly with its grey, washed out exterior. Marble pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, adjacent to an intricate chandelier every metre, or so.