The Hunger Games- What If's (Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

   I think of asking Haymitch what "getting to work" may mean, but decide against it. I'll find out soon enough, anyway.

   Haymitch leads me through the penthouse to my room. He continues to walk through it until he comes to the bathroom. He stops, then turns to look at me.

   "We need to get you ready for everything. I have a feeling that this showdown isn't going to end easily. Or quickly, for that matter. They're going to milk this for all it's worth, and you have got to be ready for anything. Is that understood?" Haymitch is dead-serious.

   "Yes," I mutter.

   "Good," Haymitch says while turning the bathroom door handle. "So, you'll trust me, right?"

   I glare at him, suspicious. "That depends," I reply.

   "It shouldn't."

   "But it does."

   Haymitch smirks playfully at me, and I know that whatever we're doing will not be fun. For me, anyway.

   "For the past couple of years, the Hunger Games have been taking place in either extreme or mild climates. There hasn't been very much variety," Haymitch begins, taking a seat on a ridiculous chair in the overly large bathroom. "That means, that the Gamemakers will most likely change it up a little bit for you two. Or however many of you there are.

   "Your arena will either change constantly, providing for many ways of survival and death, or it will stay the same, like on a big slab of metal or something of that sort. Of course, that could mean a fast ending to one of you, or a very long, drawn-out Games for the viewers.

   "The latter, it appears, seems more unreasonable given the circumstances. Like I said before, they want to milk you and Linsky until you're both dead, practically. And the Capitol doesn't particularly like either of you, if you know what I'm saying. The prior may seem more likely, but it almost seems more ludicrous. I mean, with an arena where natural surroundings cause you to cope so often, when will you two ever fight? I'm sure that they don't want you to die of natural causes. That'd be too boring, right sweetheart? You know how they play now, don't you?"

   I say nothing at first, but I do nod. Once, slowly.

   Haymitch stands up after a long pause, and makes his way over to the shower. He removes the basin at the bottom of actual shower and presses two buttons. Water comes flowing out of the golden faucet like a waterfall.

   I watch as Haymitch sets the basin on the floor in front of me.

   "Well, get on the ground."

   "Why?" I ask, though it's obvious that Haymitch is going to make me hold my breath.

   He rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that sass. Now, do it."

   Unwillingly, I sit cross-legged on the cool tile of the bathroom. Haymitch looks exasperated with me, so I quickly change my seating position, so I can dip my head in the water easily.

   "Thank you. Now, I'll time you. Go."

   I plunge my head into the water.

   As soon as my face touches the scorching water, I know that I should probably have tested it beforehand. Of course, while you're in the Games, you don't have time to think like that, so I imagine that Haymitch must be at least somewhat pleased that I didn't argue with him.

   Ten. . . . Eleven . . . . Twelve . . . . Thirteen . . . .

   I think my lungs are going to burst. Then I think of how long the kids in District 4 must be able to hold their breath, but I don't care. I try to pull up, but the moment the back of my head hits the surface, pressure is put on it, forcing me back into the pit of water hot as lava.