Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters, places, themes, etc. No copyright infringement intended.

Part of the 1000 Themes Challenge, Number 21.

Ghosts of the Past

Alcohol. There's got to be some somewhere in the hellhole.

Haymitch rummaged through the cabinets, cursing under his breath as each one turned out to be empty. The effects from his previous whisky were beginning to wear off, and the nightmares were returning to torment him further.

A memory flashed through Haymitch's head. Maysilee was lying on the ground, blood pouring out of the gashes on her neck. Haymitch sank to the ground beside her, taking her hand in his. Helplessly he watched as the last light faded from her eyes. The cannon sounded, making her death final.

Aha, beer. Haymitch twisted the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips. He took a big mouthful of the alcohol, reveling in the relief it brought.

Haymitch lowered the bottle, grinning in satisfaction. His mind was already beginning to numb. He took another, longer swig, lessening the effects of the next memory that assaulted him.

The axe flew over him, heading for the girl who had thrown it moments ago. It struck her head, and she crumpled to the ground, instantly dead.

In a few more huge gulps, Haymitch drained the rest of the beer. He dropped the empty bottle, immediately reaching for another to take its place. The second it was opened it was halfway gone. Burping, he leaned against the counter to steady himself. His surroundings appeared blurry, fuzzy.

Haymitch heard someone – Peeta or Katniss probably – unlock his front door and enter his house.

"Haymitch?" Katniss, then.

He drained the bottle he was holding with a practiced ease, waiting for the girl to find him.

"Haymitch!" Katniss explained, turning the corner and entering his kitchen. "How many bottles?"

"Just one."

"Haymitch…"

"Mind your own business," he grumbled.

"You drink too much. Go lay down," Katniss commanded.

Haymitch shrugged, stumbling over to his old, ratty sofa and plopping down on it. The way he figured, if he pretended to listen to Katniss she would go away.

"Really Haymitch," she muttered.

He grinned again, closing his eyes.

Katniss made an attempt to clean up the house a bit before she sighed, collected a few empty alcohol bottles, and left.

The moment the door shut behind her, Haymitch lurched up and headed back to the kitchen. He found a wine bottle and opened it, drinking deeply. It never ceased to amaze him that his body could hold so much of the stuff.

Haymitch staggered over to his round kitchen table, collapsing into one of the dark wooden chairs. He swallowed more wine before setting the mostly full bottle on the table. His eyelids started to droop as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The last thing that passed through his mind was the way Maysilee's parents had glared at him when he returned to District 12 and their daughter hadn't. Their look at been one of hatred, of sadness, of confusion. And Haymitch had had to smile at them and look in their eyes as he apologized. They'd had to pretend the understood. Lies, all lies.

Haymitch leaned back in his chair and let the darkness save him.

A/N: I'm not sure how accurate this fic is. I don't know if Haymitch is still haunted by the Hunger Games, or if he's managed to push them from his mind. But anyway... Hope you somewhat liked it=)