The reaping ceremony for the 54th Hunger Games had been horrible. You were from District 12 and lived in a small hidden cabin in the woods, with your mother, grandmother and siblings. You had recently turned 18, meaning it was your last year to be reaped but your name was picked from the hundreds.

With tears, you were ushered to the train carriage that would take you to the Capitol. Sitting in one of the plush chairs was a man. He smelled of whiskey. It was Haymitch Abernathy, your mentor. He was a tribute in the 50th Games and survived.

“Welcome, take a seat.” he grumbled as he slumped back into his chair.