Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games. Here's another request for my sister!
~ The awesome Madge Undersee's point of view ~
I normally wouldn't have approached Haymitch Abernathy, the only Victor in 12, but I have already told myself to go talk to him. I want to know, and he knows.
My mother is always sick; my father knows practically nothing. I dare not ask Katniss's mother, Mrs. Everdeen, who I barely know. For some reason, I know the person I have to talk to is Haymitch. He was in the Games with my aunt. He must know something.
It is the day before the day of reaping, and I have decided to ask him about my aunt before he heads to the Capitol this year. She was my age when she was Reaped, and I've worked up the courage to ask him.
I approach his house and go up to the front door. I knock on the door and stand back. In my free hand is something I've had in my possession for years. My mother had given it to me for my tenth birthday. She had been sad about it, and I knew it had to do with the Games. My aunt, Maysilee, her twin, was killed in the Games. The same year Haymitch Abernathy won them.
He's bound to know something. I push back some of my blonde hair when I hear a voice inside yelling "What?"
"Haymitch Abernathy?" I say loudly so he can hear me through the door. I wait as I hear him move around and the door swings open. Haymitch looks disgusting; his skin is turning yellow and his clothes are dirty and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.
"Who are you?" he wants to know.
His breath smells and I step back, waving a hand in my face, "Ugh, that reeks."
"Whatdidyawant?" Haymitch mumbles gruffly.
I straighten and say, "I'm Madge Undersee, the mayor's daughter. I was wondering if you could tell me about Maysilee Donner."
At her name, Haymitch snarls and tries to shut the door.
I stick my foot out and continue in a calm voice, "My mother won't tell me anything and my dad barely knew her. Mr. Abernathy, she was my aunt."
"Go away," says Haymitch.
"Haymitch!" I say loudly, and I thrust my fist out and peel back my fingers, revealing a pin. He slumps and stops trying to close the door as I say, "This was hers. My mother never said it was, but I know. You were in the Hunger Games with her. I want to know what happened in them."
A moment passes, my hand still out.
"No. No, you don't, kid," says Haymitch slowly after a moment. He tries to close the door again and I say, "Please, Haymitch. Please . . ."
He stops trying to close the door again and then mumbles under his breath incoherently. After a moment, he sighs, wipes his face and says, "Why do you want to know? Why do you care?"
"She was my aunt," I say simply, quietly. I sigh and look at the ground and say, "I want to know what happened to her."
"No, no you don't," says Haymitch.
"Haymitch," I say in a serious voice.
"What?" he says.
"Please," and after a moment, he groans and allows me into his house.
My first impression is to gag. His entire house is disgustingly filthy. Bottles that used to contain alcohol litter the ground as well as broken glass. Liquids are dripping from his counter tops. Something foul is running amok. It's a bit nasty, but I keep my cool as Haymitch slides into a seat at his table, which looks rather shabby.
"Take a seat," he mumbles, and he reaches for one of his many bottles that line the table.
I watch with a raised eyebrow as he downs two large gulps of it before he puts it down with a sigh.
"What is this?" I begin, shoving the pin toward him. He takes it, his eyelids fluttering up and down, and holds it up for him to see. It's a gold pin, solid gold, but I know that he won't steal it. He has lots of money already and he's too drunk to do anything.
It's a circle with a bird in it, its tips touching the sides of the circle.
"What is it?" I say quietly.
He snarls and puts it down on the table. "It's a mockingjay, kid, that's what it is. It's a stupid pin."
"Where did it come from?" I word carefully. I frown when I hear him call it stupid. It was my aunt's, my dead aunt's, and he wasn't being very sensitive. I wasn't expecting the village drunk to be sensitive, of course. I was hoping more for respect for the dead.
"Dunno," says Haymitch, and he takes another swig of alcohol.
I lift an eyebrow and say, "Where did you last see it?"
Haymitch sighs and dips his bottle down long enough to say, "It was her token in the arena, kid," before he divulges into more fiery drink.
I sit up straighter, my mouth slightly agape. Her token in the arena? It was known throughout that every tribute gets to take one thing into the arena. I peer at the table and swipe the pin. I look at it closely now, realizing that this was the one piece of home my aunt had in the arena besides those other tributes. This was her piece.
"What was it like, in the arena?" I say slowly. "Did my aunt last long? Mother doesn't want to talk about . . . it."
"Ever wonder why?" says Haymitch bitterly, "it was like hell in that arena, kid. Your aunt . . . Maysilee . . . she was . . . smart."
"Smart? That's it?" I say, leaning forward.
Haymitch shrugs as he takes another sip. "Well, she was an all right ally."
Well, this was new information. He takes another sip and I realize that the drink is making him slip more information.
"You were allies?" I ask. "When in the Games did you two become allies?"
"Midway," says Haymitch, shaking his head around in a tipsy sort of way, "she . . . saved me from a Career . . ."
My aunt killed someone. It was to be expected, for she had been in the Hunger Games, where it is practically impossible to not kill someone midway.
Haymitch snorts and takes another drink before continuing. "We walked on and on and on through that damn arena . . . . it was picturesque, but deadly, very deadly, kid, deadly."
I lean forward. I doubt anyone has heard Haymitch tell about his time in the Games outside of the Capitol's interviews.
"We came to the edge of it, and we split up. A couple of minutes later, there was this scream, this . . . really painful scream." He takes another huge gulp of alcohol and spits, "There was a bunch of stupid, pink birds pecking her. She got stabbed . . . by their beaks!"
My stomach starts to hurt. I neither knew my aunt, but this is making me feel horrid.
"It was sick, damn sick. I . . . . held her hand when she died," and he finishes the bottle and his hands reach for another. I gulp and shove one toward him. He takes it, uncorks it and glugs a bit before he says quietly, looking at me straight in the eye, "You look like her."
The next day, at the Reaping, I watch from the sixteen-years-old girls' space as Haymitch staggers and falls onto Effie Trinket's lap. When I left yesterday, he had still been drinking.
I don't think he had stopped at all.
Once Katniss is reaped, I know what I have to do. I have the mockingjay pin in my hand in case I was reaped, for it would have been my token. I decide now that it'll be Katniss's.
My aunt Maysilee was a strong competitor, and I know Katniss will be one too.
I hope y'all liked it, and please, if you'd like, let me know what you think! :)