Trigger Warning: Mentions of drug abuse in both POVs. If you are uncomfortable with this, please proceed with caution.
Tamora Petersen, aged 17
When Tamora wakes up, it's still dark outside.
This doesn't bother her one bit, as she reaches for her closet door and pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of pants. She quickly gets dressed, then slips downstairs. The sounds of gentle snoring coming from across the hall tell her she's the only person in the house who's awake.
Eventually, Tamora cracks the front door open and pulls herself through the gap. She's fairly small for her age, so it's not a hard task. She then quietly closes the door behind her. Once she's out, she begins to run.
The Sun is finally starting to come up, but Tamora doesn't care. She's memorized her route so well, she could do it with her closed! Down the street she goes. Past the old, worn-down houses that mirror hers all too well. Past the early morning street thugs and morphling addicts, who watch her curiously from the shadows of the alleyways. Away from District 6's poorer neighbourhood and into the industrial area, where the factories are.
Tamora goes on, running by all sorts of buildings. She can see people staring her down as she passes them. Hopefully, nobody will approach her. She also sees Peacekeepers milling around, perhaps looking for some homeless druggie to harass. Tamora just ignores them and continues onward.
Eventually, she turns around and runs back home. The sky is a much lighter shade of blue now. As Tamora heads inside, she can hear someone moving about. In the kitchen, a woman in her mid-thirties rummages through the cupboards. She has the same dirty blonde hair as Tamora, except hers is greasier and dirtier. Her skin is extremely pale. Her bloodshot eyes have dark circles underneath them and her arms are littered with pricks.
"Mom?" Tamora calls out. "What are you doing?"
Kristi Petersen looks up. In one hand, she holds a vial of morphling. "I need it..."
"No, Mom. I'm supposed to be the one handling the morphling, okay? Doctor Bunty said so."
Kristi scowls. "Doctor Bunty is full of shit...she thinks she knows what's good for me..."
Tamora ignores the curses; instead, she takes Kristi's arm and leads her to the table. Tamora then plucks a clean needle from the cupboard and fills it with morphling, but only halfway, like she was instructed to. Kristi snatches up the needle, and sticks into her arm. It drains quickly, and she lets out a sigh of relief. The rest of the morphling is put back in the cupboard where it belongs.
Tamora pulls out some pot and pans, getting ready to make breakfast. She can tell from the silence in the air that her mother is no longer stealing morphling when she thinks Tamora isn't looking, in order to get that daily fix. So they're making progress. Day by day, Tamora slowly gives her mother a smaller and smaller dose, until there's nothing left. It's taken them a month to get to this point, and Tamora isn't stopping now. They've come too far to give up.
As the pans heats up over their little stove, Tamora cracks last three eggs into a bowl and whisks them up. She adds a little bit of milk and throws a pinch of spice in for flavour. As the eggs are prepared, Tamora beings to think about what she needs to get done today. She has a shift at the factories today, then hopefully, going out and buying some more food. Luckily, Tamora has been saving up whatever money she's earned working those part-time shifts in the factories. Hopefully, she can afford enough stuff to last them a week.
The eggs are finished and Tamora carries two half-empty plates over to the table. She sits down next to her mother and they being to eat. Kristi's eyes slowly but surely drift to the cupboard, but dart straight back to the table when she realizes Tamora is glaring at her.
For a while, the kitchen is silent until Tamora clears her throat. "Mom, do you think you can get dressed yourself while I wash the dishes, or do you want me to help you?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Kristi sounds completely out of it. "I can wash the dishes."
This surprises Tamora. Kristi rarely does any chores around the house, simply because she's too drugged to care. "You sure?"
"Yeah..." Kristi is staring intensely at the fork in her hand.
"Well, okay. I'm going to go wash up. Just...promise me you won't touch anything in the cupboards, okay?"
As she runs upstairs and into the bathroom, Tamora studies herself in the mirror. It amazes her how she look so similar but so different from her mother. Now, she's got dark circles under her eyes too. From the restless nights full of tossing and turning, wondering if everything will be okay.
Even though Tamora looks and acts so put together, she worries a lot. She worries about where she'll get her next meal from. She worries if her attempts to treat her mother's addiction are helping. She worries about the thugs and street gangs, who stare at her from the darkness, waiting for a moment when she's unaware and defenseless. She worries about the possibility of getting involved in an accident at work. The Reaping is tomorrow and she's worried about that. If Tamora gets Reaped, who will help Kristi? Would Kristi even notice her absence?
Tamora used to be a very pessimistic person, who believed that nothing good would ever happen in her sad, miserable life. But she's getting better at it. She knows to look for the bright the side, the silver lining to the dark cloud. She has to be positive, for her sake and her mother's. She needs to have hope and optimistic thoughts for Kristi's recovery. She has to dream of that one day when her mother will be completely free of morphling, forever. She must keep her head up high and look for solutions. Because once she stops, she'll give up. And all her attempts will be for nothing.
And Tamora has come too far to give up.
Vira Jonas, aged 65
It's amazing Vira is still alive at this point.
To be honest, had Vira not run away almost immediately, she would be dead. Dead. A single cannon. A face, shining in the sky. Just like that of her District partner. Seeing him up there instead of down here...it really hurts. The two of them have been through a lot together, drugging themselves out into their own little world, running away from all their problems with just a single needle.
And the withdrawal is really kicking in. Vira has gone without morphling for at least a week now, and it's really getting to her. She can't stand this feeling; she needs the drug. Craves it. Without it, Vira's body is feeling like it's shutting down. And it drives her insane.
As the Sun sets, Vira stumbles about through the jungle arena. She just moves without a single plan in mind. She just goes, floating around in an imaginary breeze that carries her wherever it desires. The Capitolites are probably getting a good kick from her making a fool out of herself, but she doesn't care. Vira has bigger problems than that.
Eventually, she's too tired to continue any further and collapses on a patch of moss underneath a tree. The Anthem is over and the sky is dark. She just lays there, listening to her heavy breathing. All sorts of thoughts are jumbled in her mind, none of them making any sense.
Vira rolls over onto her side, then onto her stomach, then back onto her side. Somewhere, a bird chirps. There's a slight rustling in the trees. Waves can be faintly heard. She ignores all of it, but slowly settles into a deep, deep sleep...
BANG!
Vira immediately sits up. Loud noises echo through the arena. BANG! BANG! BANG! Vira curls up tightly into a little ball and hugs her legs to her chest. Her head faces downwards as she closes her eyes and tries to calm her racing heart.
And just like that, the noises are gone.
Vira's counted 12 in total. She isn't sure what this means. Cannons? No, there's no way so many tributes could've dropped that quickly. Unless there's a terrifying beast wrecking havoc on the arena and claiming lives...in that case, she should run...
The dark sky of the arena is quickly lit up by a flash of lightning. Wide awake, Vira just watches as the lightning strikes a tree in the distance. She can't help but feel relieved she's so far away. Anybody standing near that tree would be a goner for sure.
Her nerves have kicked in and she doesn't think she can fall back asleep. Vira just continues to tightly hug her legs. The lightning soon fades and she can hear faint rain in the distance. She can't help but feel thirsty. But fear roots her to her spot and refuses to let her move.
The rain goes on and on. Eventually, Vira ignores it and settles back to sleep. She's woken up a little over an hour later by voices. In her muddled state, she doesn't recognize them right away. But still, it's hard to miss what Finnick Odair sounds like. However, Vira is more intrigued by the fact that his voice lacks its usual sultry and sexy charm; instead, he has a worried tone. She quickly ducks behind her tree.
Monkeys. Monkeys everywhere.
Mutts are attacking. Arrows are flying. A trident is swinging. Finnick is desperately fighting the mutts off, alongside a fellow Victor. With her dark brown braid and the faint gleam from her mockingjay pin, Vira knows exactly who she is.
Katniss Everdeen.
There's a third member of the party too. A boy about Katniss's age is cornered against a nearby tree. A monkey is in front of him snarling. He's defenseless and if nobody saves him, he's gone. Vira just watches from her spot in the tree as the monkeys prepares to take a bite.
Suddenly, she's soaring through the air. Her arms fly outwards and she shrieks. Loudly. It combats all other noises in the arena. Something sharp pierces her chest. She's falling now. Vira instantly beings to feel faint...
And then she's being carried somewhere. Vira lies in someone's arms. What's happening? Is she dead? Is her guardian angel carrying her off to heaven? She feels a splash of warm water. She feels like she's...floating...
And then her hand moves to her chest, making contact with her warm, sticky blood. It reminds her of all the paint she used back in the Training Centre, where she would cover herself in simple, somewhat sloppy designs, but she would enjoy it. Her fingers are tracing swirling motions as she stares upwards, and into Peeta Mellark's eyes.
Somewhere in Vira's muddled memory, she recalls painting Peeta's arm when he once joined her at the Training Centre. Her artwork was nothing compared to his, but he still appreciated the gesture and complimented her work. Now, he holds her gently as she's in the final throes of death.
VIra reaches up and paints something onto Peeta's cheek.
It's not a perfect design and the only paint she has is her own blood. But Peeta smiles anyway. It's comforting to Vira for that to be the last thing she sees before her world goes dark and she's left to float into the water, carried off to the afterlife.
Somewhere, some place, a cannon fires and the monkey whose teeth are stained red with Vira's blood retreats back into the jungle, waiting patiently for its next victim.