100. Memory

Twenty-Three Years of Tributes

Katniss heard the door open to her home in the Victor Village. She remembered Haymitch told her he'd stop by today, so she and Peeta were expecting him. It was strange, considering Haymitch rarely stopped by, and whenever he did he'd just show up. He never told her ahead of time.

"I'm here," Haymitch announced. "Just me and my memories." He entered their living room and plopped down on the sofa.

Katniss noticed Haymitch carried a large photo album. Peeta came in, wiping his powdery hands on an apron. He had just finished putting fresh bread into the oven. They sat across from Haymitch in the loveseat.

"I have to show you something…you can add this to your book." He pointed at the album. A layer of dust covered the exterior; it hadn't seen the light of day in many years. "Go ahead, open it up and take a look."

Peeta opened the album and flipped through the pages. He noted the youthfulness of those in the pictures: young boys and girls, ages twelve through eighteen. Katniss noticed his eyebrows were slightly raised, indicating his curiosity. Then his expression softened. "Are these your…?"

"Former tributes," Haymitch finished for him. He took a long drink from his flask. "From all twenty-three years, all forty-six of them…before I had the fortune to meet you two. All forty-six are…" He didn't have to finish his sentence. Both Peeta and Katniss exchanged a knowing glance.

All forty-six of them are dead; Peeta and Katniss thought to themselves.

"Sweetheart, do you remember what I told you before you boarded the hovercraft for your first Games?"

Katniss thought it over, uncertain. Peeta looked perplexed. He knew it was something between them. "No…refresh my memory."

"Let me tell you a story about my second year as a mentor," Haymitch said. "I was eighteen years old. These were my second set of tributes; I believe their names were Crescent and Aster…if memory serves me right. Crescent was terrified at the prospect of being reaped for the Games, Aster not so much."

Katniss and Peeta listened intensely.

Haymitch pointed out the young boy with reddish-brown hair, gray Seam eyes, and a smattering of freckles across his face. "Crescent was twelve years old, he was a nice kid, but so young. Aster was seventeen years old and rough around the edges. Since I was only a year older than her, there wasn't much I could say to her—I tried, but she didn't listen. Now you have to understand that this was my second time mentoring and there were certain things I didn't learn until the 52nd Hunger Games."

"Such as what, Haymitch?" Peeta asked.

Haymitch held up a pointer finger, indicating for Peeta to hold on one moment, while he took another drink from his flask. He placed the cap on in a very slow manner as though putting off what he was about to share with them. "I found out that if you step off the pedestal before the countdown is over…they blow you sky high."

Katniss' eyes widened in recognition. "I remember now. You were telling me not to go to the Cornucopia because they put weapons there to lure you into the bloodbath. You said to search for water and to not get off the pedestal before the countdown…"

Haymitch shrugged, feigning indifference. Katniss and Peeta knew Haymitch well enough to know he was trying not to reveal how much the memory still affected him, even after all these years.

"I'm sure it happened before my Games to another tribute. It's just Crescent was a tiny thing, like Rue. He was afraid and I was afraid for him too, but I couldn't show that. So I did my best to mentor him, to prepare him. But let's face it; you can't really prepare anyone for the Games. Anyway, he enters the arena and the countdown begins, the number was on thirteen or twelve—I don't remember which—when he stepped off and the pedestal exploded. Blood and body parts rained down…" He shook his head in disbelief, as though he still couldn't believe the horrible sight he had witnessed over twenty years ago. "Some splattered on the nearby tributes on the pedestals closest to his. It was the most awful sight."

Haymitch stared at the floor and sighed. He covered his eyes briefly and leaned back against the sofa, stuck in his awful memories of seeing his own tribute get blown apart. Katniss and Peeta were somber as they gave him time to reflect on his fallen tribute.

"To this day, I wonder if he did it on purpose," Haymitch finished. "I know it sounds crazy," he quickly added as he faced them now. "If it was a suicidal gesture, it wouldn't surprise me."

A long period of silence passed between Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta. Their silence was their own way to give respect to all the tributes that never made it out of the arena alive. Eventually, Haymitch started talking again and shared stories about all his tributes throughout the years. He remembered all their names and ages, their strengths, their weaknesses, the manner in which each of them died, and how every year he wanted to quit being a mentor.

"My fifth year mentoring…" Haymitch flipped the pages to show a boy, fifteen years of age, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, whose expression was a combination of mischief and annoyance. "Slate had a mind of his own, but he took my advice: he stayed alive. He didn't get off the pedestal until the countdown was over and he found water. That year, the arena was a desert and water was scarce. He was one of final two tributes standing. Slate was exhausted and on his last legs. A Career tribute from District 2, Jagger, managed to overpower him and slit his throat." He shook his head. "And that's how it was, year after year, hoping that one of my tributes would walk out alive, but after the seventh or eighth year, I knew what to expect—yes, I know that's terrible, but that's what happened. It became routine to see kids get reaped, go on the train to the Capitol, train, interview, sent out to the Games, and return on the train to District 12...accompanying me in their wooden boxes…until you two came along." At this, Haymitch genuinely smiled. "You both broke my losing streak."

"That's an interesting way of seeing it," Peeta said.

"To say the least," Katniss added. "I'm glad we broke it, Haymitch." She tried not to imagine what it would've been like for Haymitch to return to District 12 from the 74th Hunger Games with both her and Peeta's bodies in separate coffins...the only "company" for their mentor...if they had been killed in the arena.

"Me too, sweetheart," Haymitch paused to take another sip. "Me too."

For the next three hours, Haymitch gave voice to his deceased tributes while Katniss and Peeta listened. They knew it was healing for him to openly talk about and grieve the youth who he had mentored. When he finished, Katniss checked to make sure there was enough pages for all their memories to be preserved and Peeta agreed to start working on their portraits first thing tomorrow morning.

Author's Notes: At long last, this fic is finished. I've been wanting to write more Hunger Games fanfic for a long time and the LJ prompt challenge satisfied my HG fix. Due to the amount of prompts and the length of time it took to write and post them, I'm relieved that this collection is now complete. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories. Your time is valuable and I appreciate the time you gave to this collection of ficlets. It means a lot to me. I also want to thank those who took the time to review. Knowing what readers liked/didn't like, what worked/didn't work, enjoyed/didn't enjoy, positive feedback, constructive criticism, even disagreement on how I portrayed the characters-I appreciate all of it. I like to respond to my reviewers, so if you left a review as a guest and have an account on FFN, feel free to message me anytime. I promise I don't bite! Thank you again, everyone, and God bless! -Sassy Lil Scorpio