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I’m somewhat sober. I think. I’m not really sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore. All I know is that I’m forever haunted.
And that’s what Snow wanted. He wanted me haunted by my Covey girl. Just how he’s being haunted by his own.
My girl isn’t the only one haunting me. All 48. All 48 sit and watch me as I make mistakes over and over again. Judging me. Yelling. Screaming. For me. For my help. But I clearly was never any help to them. They’re the ghosts and I’m the one living.
They all look the same. The tributes at least. Louella, my sweetheart, stuck as her 13 year old self always beside Lou Lou. I think the two of them kill me the most. But then I’ll look around and each face drowns me with guilt.
I’m lonely but I’m never alone. I’ll never be alone. I’ve killed too many. Whether it was my fault or not. Everyone is dead because of me.
Yeah. I’m definitely too sober for this.
I stand up from my chair and look out towards the sky. Hoping that the sun won’t rise. Not today. Please I’m begging. But to my luck, it rises from the west.
Happy Birthday Haymitch
Happy Birthday Haymitch
Happy Birthday Haymitch
I want to scream. Sid’s words echoing through my pounding head.
Fucking hungover. I stood up too fast and vomit what little bit I have in my stomach. I can’t remember what I last ate. The Capitol continues to send me food. I think it just wants to watch me suffer every year. To send kids to their deaths every year. To remind me of what I did to them.
It early. The sun just barely peeking through the horizon. I’d have time to walk to meadow if I could remember how to walk properly. Shaking myself back up, I stand up slower this time and walk towards the door. I know the streets would be empty. I’m completely isolated here in Victors Village. One of two victors. I’m not sure where Lucy Gray went. But maybe I’m just jealous she got to escape wherever she may be.
I hope she haunts Snow the same way Lenore Dove haunts me. I hope all the tributes haunt him. If they do, he doesn’t show it. Maybe he doesn’t drink as much as I do. What pain would he be trying to forget anyway. It’s the only reason why I drink. To forgot.
As I walk out of Victors Village, I think about my favourite thing. The only thing keeping me from just ending it all. My love.
My Lenore Dove. I love you like All-Fire. Even in death I still find you have secrets. Things I was never told. I want to know everything. I won’t learn nothing till it’s my time. I made you a promise I’d make sure the sun doesn’t rise on reaping day. My birthday. Ever again. You whisper that it’s not my time. Not our time to be together yet. Please just tell me when it’s my time so I’d have something to look forward to. My love. My sweet sweet love. Just as sweet as the gumdrops that haunt me. The dreams don’t come as often often enough but I don’t see your blood dripping from your mouth after I feed you the gumdrop. I don’t hear your chocking anymore. The last thing I had ever heard from you. It’s my reminder that I will never be free. Never as free as a dove. I’m glad you’re free.
It’s not my time.
I need to remind myself this every time I go to the Covey grave. With the new additions of Clerk Carmine Clade and Tam Amber. Whenever I come here, I just want to lie down and get sucked into the earth with you and get taken to wherever you, ma, and Sid are.
Ma would be disappointed in me. I’ve become nothing but a drunk who sends kids to their deaths. I’m a liar. A cheat. A rascal. If I hadn’t been those things everyone would still be here.
When I look up from their graves the sun is risen high on reaping day. Brighter even. If Snow could control the sun he’d make it extra bright and extra long and painful on reaping days just to remind me of all I have done.
I kiss my loves grave and wish her farewell even though I know her ghost will follow me. It will follow me to my own. Her and all the others. Perhaps they’ll be set free when they see me to my grave. Ghosts only stay when they have unfinished business so the stories say.
I know Sid is close by. Always being my rooster on my birthday. His last chances of being reaped would have been 5 years ago. We’re approaching the next quarter quell. 11 more years. 22 tributes.
By the 75th games I’ll have sent off 48 kids to their deaths. What an ironic number. It’s my unlucky number. Maybe that’s when I’ll die. At 48 years old. Snow will finally take me out of my misery one day.
But not today. Not tomorrow. Not soon.
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.
Walking past the pond and the cabin, a chill goes down my spine. It always does. Never feels right here like there’s a piece to a story I’m missing. I shrug it off. Not worth the time.
The plants are starting to bloom around the dock.
Prim flowers are slowly dying as the katniss start to take over. Protecting it from the dangers of the hot sun.
But it’s not time for the katniss. Not yet.