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Every day, I hit the bottle harder until my shelves and floors are lined. Rotgut Liquor and sleep syrup are my only companions, but I never miss the passing glances of Burdock and Asterid in the Hob, or Blair when he goes off to the mines, or Otho who's taken over his father's bakery.
They all have happy lives. Most have children of their own.
I've seen Burdock's excitable daughter by his side, a little bird who clings to his hand when they walk around the Hob. Two dark braids and the same gray eyes, but she doesn't bat an eye at me. Burdock glances at me, looks like he wants to say something, but he turns away and takes his daughter away.
Her name is Katniss. I've heard she sings like her father, hunts and runs around the bush like him too.
I want to say hello, but I can't—not without thinking of that bastard sitting in the Capitol, high on his mighty seat of power.
I could never forgive myself if something happened to them.
District 12's Victor's Village is as lonely as ever. The whole area is mine, but I only have the key to one of the houses. Three other houses are built here, but one is falling apart, and the two were built in the last few years. Maybe the Capitol thinks District 12 will be lucky again and we'll have a victor... Doubtful. Everyone's malnourished here, and those of us who are in decent shape aren't quick to volunteer.
No one is stupid enough to volunteer for the Games here.
A bird's wings flap outside my kitchen window as I pour myself my hundredth glass of white liquor. A white bird sits and looks at me through the window as if I'm withholding its food.
Go away. I swat my hand at the window, but the bird stays put, determined as ever. You're like the rest of them. They all stayed even when I shouted obscenities at them, but the breaking point had been Asterid.
I had thrown those rocks as warnings. A desperate plea to be alone, to shoulder this Victor's curse on my own, but only until one scratched and drawn Asterid's innocent blood. I'd never meant to hit her, but the sight of her blood dripping onto the walkway in front of my house was a heavy one, and it was the last time Burdie—Burdock ever came by. Blair stopped as well.
The bird stared at me as though it was giving me a challenge.
Throw a rock.
Throw some food.
Throw a bottle.
Any of the above, and the bird would be gone. Maybe it's white feathers would line my front yard like the blood of my friends in my dreams.
I swatted and hit the window hard, but the bird stayed. I felt a dull ache in my hand, but the liquor had numbed it faster.
"Bet I know a thing or two about your dove."
Coriolanus Snow. I couldn't recall hating anyone more than that old bastard, though maybe I might hate myself more.
The pained images of Asterid's blood and Burdock's indignation are still at the forefront of my mind. I still remembered the sucker punch I received from Burdock in private following that. Blair had taken Asterid to get her wounds checked and Burdock cursed me out of his life for hurting Asterid.
I'd want to curse myself from everyone's lives if I brought so much pain.
Before I'd even realised it, I'd grabbed my coat and made my way out.
It doesn't take long to cross from the Victor's Village to the fence. The sun is slowly setting through the trees and most of town is being illuminated by oil lamps and hearth fires. I somehow still hear the birds chirping like its morning. They usually quiet down by now, but perhaps today was special.
A brisk wind pushed past me, almost like it was trying to push me beyond the fence.
What right did I have to go venturing into the meadows to go see Lenore Dove's grave? I'd seen it once before, many years ago, but I hadn't been since. Sacred Covey ground, but I'm not Covey despite how long I've known them.
Burdock, who'd been nice enough to show me, hadn't talked to me since the day he showed me the Covey's secret graveyard. Yet he reappear not far away, almost like he's expecting me. He's got a bag over his shoulder and a bow slung on the other, but strangely enough, it's dusk. Who hunts at this time when visibility is so poor?
He notices me immediately and there's no surprise. He walks over at a casual pace and stick his hands into his leather jacket.
"You can go see her if you'd like. You don't need our permission or an escort." he tells me. He barely meets my eyes when he says this, its akin to look through me than at me.
I shrug. "It feels wrong."
"Nothing's wrong about grieving a loss." He says wisely.
He props up a de-electrified fence wire and allows me through. He waits for me to pass, and so I do. I cling to any semblance of our past friendship, maybe part of him fondly remembers out memories together.
"This is the last time I do this for you, Haymitch." he says. His words quickly remind me of the distance I set myself with those rocks and insults.
We walk for hours in the dark, but Burdock seems to know the path better than anyone in the dark. The moon is covered by thick passing clouds and the forest bears its usual sounds of crickets and cicadas in the heat. Past the dense forests, the cabin and the lake, the empty meadows until we arrive where we last talked It's nearly sunrise when we arrive.
Lenore Dove's grave. I remember spending an entire night sleeping here. Her warmth slips away from me every night and I miss her dearly, my heart only longs to be with her in the therebefore of the Covey mourning songs. The mockingjays are quiet, as are most birds at night, but it feels as though I have a whole audience even if my present company is but Burdock Everdeen and the graves around us.
"Go on. I'll wait." Burdock ushers me in gently with a push on my shoulder. He takes a seat on a tree stump near it's entrance.
It's been years since I last came, since I last got to touch darling Lenore Dove's resting place. My heart remains buried here in the dirt with hers and everyone else's present.
One headstone I recognise as Lenore Dove's grave, and another is Maude Ivory's, passed a few years back, but another I vaguely recognise.
I know Burdock is still watching me, but he doesn't move from his seat.
I kneel and wipe away the dirt and moss creeping over the third. The stone isn't as weathered as most of the others, but I could guess it's been a few decades, but not yet a century. No, the century-old stones are further away, their names and writing almost completely gone.
This woman's name poem is still present, maybe they'd been carved before I was born, but I have no real way of knowing.
-Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome world.
I feel I should know this name. Lucy Gray. Maybe I've heard a whisper of her name, felt her influence somewhere, but District 12 is small. We know who's recently passed, and most know their grandparents or someone who's a bit older. This Lucy Gray clearly dated from after the Dark Days. Are you Coriolanus Snow's unlucky Covey girl? Do you know her? He looked at the other stones, all weathered, some beaten by winds and the passing of time, but only hers seems appropriately old enough.
I look back at Burdock who's watching me closely from a distance. "Can I ask you something?" I let my voice travel in the night.
"What is it?" His voice is cold, but it isn't defensive.
I have no right to the information and I know Burdock might not know who she is either, but it's worth a try. "Who's Lucy Gray?" I ask. I continue to wipe away the dirt with care. Her tombstone should have the same care as my sweet Lenore Dove's. Someone must've loved her dearly even if her name is unknown to him now.
Burdock sighs and steps up next to me and plops himself to the ground. He too dusts off her grave and smiles painfully as he reads the name poem of the mysterious Lucy Gray in his sweet smooth voice.
I've dearly missed his singing.
"I'll probably get into some trouble for telling you, so keep your trap shut," Burdock gives in and turns to face me.
We're seated before one another like old times.
"Lucy Gray Baird," he begins, stating her name as though it was a title.
Baird. The same as Lenore Dove and Maude Ivory Baird. I wonder if she's blood-related to them?
There's some pain in his expression but I'm not quite sure why. Maybe a past memory of the Peacekeepers hearing someone speak her name? "Her name is forbidden in our district or anywhere a camera may be, so only ever repeat her name here at her grave, you hear me?" Burdock tells me. There's a softness to his aging eyes that wasn't there before but his tone leaves no room for discussion. "Given you're a Victor, it feels only fitting that you know she was also District 12's first Victor."
The girl in the rainbow dress who sang in the videos. The one who sang of her lover and the reaping. The one whom I recognised snippets of her dress on Lenore Dove's outfits.
"The Tenth Games..."
Burdock nods slowly. "Folks here had mixed opinions about Covey—some still do—but they never accepted her as their own. They say her name had been rigged like yours, but her fate brought a similar one wave," he vaguely explained. "They say with her came a sea of blood." he stated, his tone taking a deeper turn.
The Capitol always makes sure their Victors do not live easy.
"She was often seen in the presence of a Peacekeeper, one who stayed here briefly for a few weeks, I've heard Tam Amber say once. Mighty recognisable fella, but he brought death with him everywhere he went—even to his own keepers."
Bringing death everywhere he went. That certain line brought a vivid reminder of every Victor who'd lost their friends and family, Beetee who watched his son get torn apart, surely Mags who'd seen so many reaped children fall, the ones even I mentored, my family.
I shift closer, eager to know whom this person was.
"Clerk Carmine told me they'd seen him up on the news a few months later. He looked different, but Clerk's got excellent memory, you know. Recognised him immediately through his new fancy clothes and title."
A peacekeeper on the news? His face revealed for the world to see? There weren't many candidates I could think of for such a thing. Most of the base Commanders liked their faces in the open, most had ridiculous claims that it brought fear and respect, but the mere thought was silly.
"He worked hard to erase her memory, Hay." Burdock muttered, he rubbed his forehead as though he had a headache. "He did it so well most of Twelve don't know a thing about her save for being the lone 12 Victor."
Erasing someone from the public? I thought of President Snow and how well he held control. Ampert, Wiress, Beetee, Mags, Sid and Ma.
Hay. It's been so long since he's called me that... Since anyone's called me that. It was like it slipped out and I was seeing my old friend again.
"President Snow." The name slipped from my mouth with no warning.
Burdock's face hardened and a hate appeared there. "They say she was his little songbird, his favourite, until she wasn't."
A Covey girl who'd broken Coriolanus' heart so badly it still affected him to this day... If he couldn't have her, no one could.
"Did he kill her?" I asked, hesitating to look at the headstone. Its words made sense like puzzle pieces. Killing her would've been merciful out of all the options available.
Burdock shrugged. "Clerk Carmine says they found her belongins' at the cabin, but they never found her." he muttered. His hand touched the stone, fingers tracing over each letter. "We remember her here, and we hope she managed her escape north, but we'll never be sure." he kept quiet for a few moments, allowing the crickets and cicadas to continue their nightly song in the cool spring dawn. "You are not to breathe her name in the district, or we'll both find ourselves in hot water. I should've never told you to begin with."
- Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child.
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome world.
I felt my stomach churn, to try to throw any of my earlier liquor from my system, but I swallow down and I touch the flowers growing in the grass next to the stone. "I hope she survived the snow."
"The sun will rise and the snow will melt." Burdock stood up and extended a hand to me. It's the first time I take his hand in years or accept his help, even if it's a crump of what was once there. "You didn't go to Lenore Dove's grave," Burdock points out curiously as they begin to leave.
Colours of dawn begin to poke out above the tree line.
"Being here was enough." I don't think I'll return here for a long time, even if the Covey tells me I'm allowed.
Burdock nods and leads the way out of the secluded graveyard. "I'm sure she misses you just as much." he whispers on the wind.
He walks one step ahead of me for more than an hour. The sun begins its rise behind us and I'm thankful for its rays out of my face, stretching our shadows across the dirt.
Twice we stop because Burdock notices some particularly plump partridges. He gets them both with his bow and stashes them into his bag to sell at the Hob when he gets back.
It isn't until we get to the cabin and the lake where he stops walking the trail and walks down to the dock.
"Sit." Burdock takes a seat on the dock and pulls his boots off and sets them aside with his socks. He rolls up his pants to his knees and lets his feet slide into the frigid spring waters.
I hesitate. I've dragged Burdock out here to see a grave and he's away from Asterid and Katniss and I'm half-sure that Asterid is also with child again, but no one's told me anything.
"I said sit, Haymitch." Burdock calls out again, but he doesn't look over his shoulder. "Or I'll push you in and leave you to the fishes."
I need no other incentive. I walk over and sit a ways away from him, as far as the dock allows me. I do the same with my boots and socks and pant legs and I left the cold water wash away any sweat and worries.
"Hay?" Burdock calls out to me.
A guilty pang hits me hard and i resist dipping my hand into my bag for my flask. It's been so long since I last heard him call me that nickname. Twice in a few hours hurts me more than I could ever imagine. It's just a name, I remind myself.
"What?" I ask, turning to look at him.
"Sober up and I'll let you meet Katniss." Burdock gives me a weak smile. He props his bag on the dock behind him and leans back against his elbows. He seems to enjoy the sun as it rises in the horizon. He glances down at where I'm sitting and shuffles over an inch, then another until we sit shoulder-to-shoulder for the first time in years. "I've missed your company." He mutters quietly.
If my thoughts had been anywhere else, I would've missed it in the sounds of water splashing against the wooden docks.
There's a warmth in his gray eyes that I've missed—one I thought I'd never see directed at me again. "There's one thing you can do for me."
"Anything." The words fly out of my mouth before I even know it.
"I'll forgive you when you stop the sun from rising on Reaping Day."
When.
Not If.
"Understood."
Burdock kicks water up out of the lake and some of it splashes on us. He watches me wipe the cold water off my face and neck with nostalgia in his eyes. "Thank you." There's clear gratitude in his voice, but it only serves to confuse me more.
"For?" I ask confused. What ever could he be thanking me for?
Burdock doesn't answer and the rest of our walk back to the district is quiet, but the air is distinctly lighter now, free of hidden burdens and sorrows of whom I do not know the identities.
I manage to sober up for a few weeks, but it doesn't last.
I meet Miss Katniss Everdeen twice before the grasp of rotgut, white liquor, and sleep syrup take a lasting hold of me again.
The memories of blood are too much to bear, but seeing her innocent face timidly smile my way is enough. Her eyes so full of hope and love for her family, it's a reminder of sweet Lou Lou, my little doves from District 6, Ampert, the softness in Mags and Wiress, and Beetee's determination and perception.
I will stop the sun from rising on Reaping Day.