Hello, everyone! So, this is the first chapter of the first "book" of my Haymitch Abernathy saga. It will have three "books" to it. Each one I will dedicate to one of the people who have helped me most throughout the process of writing this story. This one is dedicated to a person known to me as 'the mexican.' She knows who she is, but she is definitely my biggest supporter. As with everything I write, comments and messages are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

If I Die Young:

Rema Becksling stepped off the train and onto the platform of District 12. Her mother was right behind her, carrying two smaller-sized suitcases. The cases were light, allowing for easy travel. Even though between the two women, they could have filled twenty suitcases with their many possessions, they left most of what they owned back in District 1. It was all too sad. Every one of their belongings reminded them in some way of Rema's father. Taking one of the suitcases from her mother, Rema led the way off the platform and into the town square, where many small, rundown shops were set up. They walked together to the small brown house that had belonged to the family in what seemed like another life. The house was as it had been left—a fine layer of coal dust coating everything, dishes in the cupboards, a ratty tablecloth covering the old oak table—yet everything seemed so alien. It was complicated enough moving from the sparkling city in District 1 to the poverty-stricken streets of District 12, but now the fact that the family had not been able to hold on to that sparkling city was being thrown in their faces full force. That was when Rema dropped her suitcase in the middle of the kitchen and stormed out.

She had no idea where to go since she was still getting used to the town again, but she knew of one place that she would be welcome. As she walked through the square and down the slight dirt path, snow began to fall lightly. By the time Rema reached her destination, another brown house covered in coal dust, there was a light coating on the ground. She knocked on the door lightly. No one answered. Another knock revealed that no one ever would. The door swung open and the kitchen was completely void of all life. No signs of fire in the hearth. Dust coated everything. It was as if no one had ever lived in this house, let alone Ginger Abernathy, the obsessively clean mother of Rema's best friend. Confused, Rema left the house, pulling the door closed respectively. On her way back to the town square, she passed a middle-aged man making his way from the mines. She approached him. "Excuse me, sir?" she asked, walking in stride with the miner. "Where are the Abernathys?"

For a second, the man looked at her with confusion. When it registered that she was new in town, he shrugged. "A better place, I hope."

Rema stopped walking, considering what he meant before speeding after him. "Wait! What do you mean?"

"You didn't hear?" Rema shook her head. "Ginger Abernathy and her son were killed just after the 50th ended."

"Which son?" Rema asked, barely managing to compose herself. Seeing him was the only good part about moving back to this impoverished district. If the Capitol took that away too, Rema felt that they would have a full-scale, one-woman rebellion on their perfectly manicured hands.

"Barberry. Haymitch lives in the Victor's Village," he said finitely, walking away from her quickly.

A grin plastered itself across Rema's face as she broke into a run. The Victor's Village was a small neighborhood of twelve houses, meant to accommodate the winners of the annual Games. As Haymitch was the first ever to win from District 12, his was the only house with smoke coming from the chimney. Her wavy brown hair flowing behind her, Rema sprinted the rest of the way into the Victor's Village, breaking the freshly fallen snow with her high-end, District 1 snowshoes. She banged on Haymitch's door loudly. When he didn't answer, Rema ran around the house, searching for a window she could shinny open. One of the three windows in the kitchen was ajar, so she peeked in. Haymitch was sitting at the table asleep. His head was down and his arms were splayed out in front of him. He was clutching something, but from this angle, she couldn't tell exactly what it was.

Rema entered the house easily—the door wasn't locked—and navigated her way into the kitchen, where Haymitch was still sleeping. It wasn't until Rema entered the kitchen that she was almost knocked backward. Even with a window open, the entire room smelled of alcohol, stale, pungent, and overly abundant. Why was Haymitch passed out in the kitchen? There was only one way to find out the answer: she would have to wake Haymitch. She shook his shoulder lightly, not expecting him to wake up, but more as a precaution to make sure he was actually asleep. Rema shook her head. "Haymitch," she whispered, attempting to wake him. He didn't stir, so she filled a cup of water in his half-broken faucet and dumped it slowly over his head. Haymitch jumped, his sandy-blond, wet hair plastered to his head. He spun his fist around and it was clear now what he was clutching—a knife, Haymitch's only weapon in the Games aside from his wits. Rema had seen the Games, watched Haymitch single-handedly blast apart the Capitol's precious scare-tactic, but she had never even thought of how much his life had been affected by the terrors he had endured.

"The fuck?" Haymitch spluttered, swinging his head around, looking for his attacker. "Why the hell am I wet?"

Rema, who had jumped onto the counter quickly to avoid Haymitch's knife, slowly lowered herself down so that her feet touched the messy floor. "Because I dumped water on you, Dippy."

Haymitch spun at her, angrily pointing his knife in her direction. Instinctively, she hopped back up on the counter, her hands raised in a sign of peace. Emotions flashed across his bright Seam-grey eyes, among them being anger, confusion, and finally, sadness. "Rem," he breathed, managing to stand and stagger over to her. "No," he shook his head, grabbing her arm. "You can't be here. They can't see you here. I won't let them do that to you."

Rema grabbed one of the cupboards, preventing him from dragging her anywhere. Eventually, he collapsed into a heap on the floor from the effort. She knelt beside him, rubbing his back. "Mitch, what's wrong?"

He looked up at her, his eyes watering on the verge of tears. "The Capitol. They killed Mottie, my mother, Barberry, everyone." A few tears managed to squeeze through his closed lashes as Rema helped Haymitch to stand. She supported him as they walked into the living room and sat on his couch. Rema cradled her broken friend as he attempted to build back up his walls. Not knowing what to say to the emotionally tattered individual she was helping cope, she just sat beside him, holding him delicately, and rubbing his back. Fifteen minutes later, Haymitch was once again calm. "I need a drink," he said moodily, making to stand.

Rema grabbed his hand. "No," she said forcefully. "I'm not letting you cope like this."

Haymitch jerked his wrist from her grip. "This is my house. My pain. I cope how I see fit, got it, Sweetheart?"

This took Rema off guard. Haymitch never snapped at her before, let alone call her Sweetheart. "Fine, but don't come crawling to me tomorrow." She stormed out of Haymitch's house in a blind rage. Just because he was grieving didn't give him the right to take it out on the one person that was actually trying to help him. She stomped through the now thick snowdrift to her new house, where she found that her mother had already created a roaring fire in the hearth and started to put away their few possessions. Not even bothering to respond to her mother's questioning looks, Rema flopped down at the kitchen table, her head on her arms, and fought the urge to scream.