A Waking Nightmare (TNHID Book 2)

Chapter 1

10 years later...

Willow

The victim of my arrow barely has time to let out an anguished moan before I slit his throat.

The stag collapses to the ground, but I feel no guilt. This is my daily routine. Being a hunter means having no sympathy for the animals I kill. I learned that with my first kill, all those years ago. It was a measly little squirrel. I cried for a week before my mother told me to snap out of it.

My next kill was no easier, but I blinked back the tears.

I don't feel a thing when my arrow meets its mark anymore. I can't afford to.

The sun in the sky appears to be dimming, sinking under the weight of keeping the world lit. It must be late afternoon. I stash my bow and arrow in a nearby tree and begin to walk towards the section of the fence closest to the butcher. As I walk towards the end of the woods, I go through my list of things that I know to be true.

My name is Willow Mellark. I am ten years old. I am a hunter. My parents were tributes during the hunger games. My mother was the one who ultimately defeated the Capitol and the original government. But President Hawthorne brought back the games. The president is responsible for all of our problems.

She told me that I should repeat these things every day, but I don't truly know why. But judging by the pained, glazed look in her eyes, I would guess it has something to do with the brutality of her past.

Her past is confusing and full of many horrors. I know that much. She was put into the arena twice, forced to shoulder the heavy burden of stopping an inevitable revolution, and lost my dad after the second arena. She was made the face of a war she never wanted while my dad was held hostage in the Capitol. When they were reunited, he tried to kill her. She never gave me the specifics regarding that time, just enough to explain his occasional episodes. Eventually, things got better, but it's a lot of trauma for one person to take. Too much.

I drag the stag towards the weak spot in the electric fence. Most of the barbed wire runs for twenty-four hours, or at least that's what's advertised, but there are some chinks in the fence that don't quite work. As I escape from the tree line, the blazing sunlight blinds me momentarily. I blink quickly, letting my eyes adjust. I can make out the butcher's shop where my mother is standing outside.

Usually, she would come hunt with me, but she hasn't lately.

After all, being pregnant with twins isn't necessarily the best circumstance for hunting.

Ever since I can remember, I have begged my mom and dad for a sibling, but they always said no. I stopped asking when I was about seven years old, but the desire for a sister or brother was still there. But when my mom found out she was pregnant about eight months ago, I began to understand why she refused. It wasn't that she didn't want more children. Just that she didn't want to risk their being in the hunger games. She sobbed for a whole week after she found out. She tried to hide it, but her cries seemed to echo through the house. There are still many days when I pass her room and see her crying quietly in my dad's arms.

I have always been told that my mother was tough, but I know that she has been through a lot.

There is only so much even the strongest person can take.

I pull up the loose section of the fence and crawl beneath, sliding the stag out with me. My mother beams at me proudly, though the smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"You shot that all by yourself, Willow?" she asks.

"Yep. He was out grazing. He barely had time to look up before I hit him." I allow myself to feel pride, standing a little straighter.