you wake up with a start from—yet another—nightmare. seemingly, your dreams never fail to make you relive the most horrific moment of your life.

you decide to go to the suite’s kitchen for a snack. although you hate to admit it, the capitol’s food never disappoints… And eating’s always cured sadness.

The thought of you fighting to be here crosses your mind. You owe it to all the lives lost this Hunger Games, and now you suffer the consequences of remembrance. It’s a fair price to pay for living.

Haymitch, your mentor, (and old childhood friend), is leaning against the counter when you get there. He looks stressed, and for an eighteen-year-old, quite old. Trauma ages you, both mentally and physically.

Haymitch won his games two years ago. He’s the same age as you, which was a point Caesar Flickerman made sure to present to the Capitol. He had an alcohol problem on the arise, unfortunately, but his care was endless. Just like with his last—dead—tribute, who didn’t make it past the bloodbath. Though, district twelve rarely does.

“You’re awake,” he croaks in surprise. He looks worried, even if he won’t admit it. The capitol didn’t take lightly to your defiance.