Haymitch: Prologue

Haymitch stumbles back to his compartment, a tankard held loosely in his hand, sloshing over the shiny mahogany floors. His head pounds painfully and the unfocused world spins without end. But despite this, he continues to pour down the liquor, enjoying the searing sensation in his throat. Once in the solitude of his room, he promptly vomits over the fancy rug, soaking the rich velvet in a noxious brown fluid. He chuckles to himself, picturing Effie's reaction to the mess.

Haymitch chugs the last of his drink. Once sure that not a droplet is left, he allows the glass to fall to the hardwood 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 the moment. His cheek falls against the hardwood, landing with a splat in the warm liquid.

'What are you doing to yourself, Haymitch?'

The soft 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 youthful grey eyes. She looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. Pale and small, her frock tattered and cheeks hollow. She fingers the necklace he had given her over twenty-five years ago. Her expression displays utter disappointment.

'I didn't mean to upset you,' he says, a single tear running down his unshaven cheek.

She shakes her head and bites down on her lip, piercing him with a stare that causes shame to flare. Her 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. As she approaches, the scent of fresh pine quickly overwhelms the stench of liquor. Her thin lips spread to a kind smile and she extends her hand. He eagerly reaches out his own calloused fingers, desperate to feel her gentle touch. He wants nothing more than to have one last chance to to keep her safe.

'I'm sorry,' 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 boy -Peeta, he thinks the name is- standing in the doorway, a curious look on his face. Completely unaware of what he has just interrupted, Peeta stoops next to him and begins to clear up the mess.

Haymitch shuts his eyes, his hammering headache returning, and allows Peeta 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…