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Drunken LoveCategory: fanfiction
Saturday, 1 December 2012
11:01:34 PM (GMT)
Hunger Games Fanfiction
Haymitch x Effie

Every year, it's the same. I wake up, put on a clean set of clothes and walk to the
square, to watch 2 kids be reaped, and then I mentor them until the games, get them
sponsors, and watch them die. Half the time they don't even last long enough to need
sponsors. Half the time, the idiots are tempted by the cornucopia and die in the
bloodbath. I tell them to get out of there, find water, but many of them don't even
last a few minutes. I don't think I can face it this year, knowing full well that
next year it'll be the quarter quell, knowing that two of the kids from this District
will be dead by the end of the week.

The voice of the president rings from the square as I stumble from my house in the
Victor's Village, towards the groups of people crowded around television screens for
the compulsory viewing of the reaping. I should be there, I know I should, but I drag
out the walk to the square, knowing that blasted woman will just look down her nose
at me like she does every year. When I arrive, every eye in the square and every
camera follows me as I try and walk to my seat. I start to wish I didn't drink so
much but that's the problem with humans really, isn't it? That we try to reverse
things that are already happening.

The pressure lifts slightly as I reach the empty seat and slump into it. Effie
Trinket, the beautiful if outrageously picky and bright person chosen to reap the
kids from our desolate little district, steps up to the two balls on the stage. She
plunges her hand into the one meant for the girls, and pulls out a strip of paper.
Primrose Everdeen. The name rings a bell and when the little girl steps forwards my
insides drop and all the alcohol I've consumed seems to want to escape my body again.
We all know Primrose, and her mother. The healing hands of the district, the little
girl who lost her father in a mining accident and occasionally trades goods with her
sister in the Hob. I see them both when I buy my drinks from Ripper, flogging the
meat and the cheese and the milk. Then her sister steps forward, strong and panicked.
Willing to give herself up to save her sister. She knows the mortality rate of the
games. Only 2 people from District 12 have ever won, and the other guy is long dead.
I feel her pain. If I could save my family by sacrificing myself, I would, but
they're all gone, long dead, just like my dreams, my hopes of ever finding anyone.
She steps onto the stage, trembling slightly, holding herself together for the
cameras. She's weak, I can sense it, but I'm determined to do all I can for her. I
step forward to pat her arm, to reassure her and comfort her, but I overestimate the
distance and tumble head-first into the crowd, landing on my bag on the cobbles. In
my drunken stupor, I just about hear the name of the male, the other condemned kid.
Peeta Mellark. His name sounds familiar…. Ah yes, the baker's son. Nobody
volunteers to take his place, nobody cares enough about his wellbeing to sacrifice
themselves to save him. Good. I don't want people fighting for the liberty to die.

I black out and from a distance feel hands picking me up and putting me on a
stretcher, carrying me into the justice building. Someone throws a bucket of icy
water on me and I come around, then dry myself off the best I can with my towel and
wait a few minutes, before going to join Effie at bottom of the stairs, where we will
meet to transport the tributes to the station, to take them away from their families
and onwards, to their death.


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