A Waking Nightmare (TNHID Book 2)

Chapter 3

Willow

The tension in the black market is almost tangible.

I knew that almost everyone would be especially stressed in light of the quell announcement, but I did not anticipate this measure of anxiety. Even my mother is suffering from it. Her back is rigid and her stance is taut. In fact, I seem to be the only one not suffering from the pressure.

My mom's eyes are glazed, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, so I drag her by the hand from stall to stall and sell the meat I've hunted. Whenever I see something we need to purchase, my mom focuses long enough to pay, but then retreats into the recesses of her mind again.

There are some days where I want to know what she is thinking. But I know that it is a world of nightmares, not daydreams.

We finish our shopping and begin the ten-minute walk to the bakery. The streets are quiet and nearly empty, which is unusual. Of course, plenty of people work in the coal mines, but there are usually more people out shopping and running errands.

It is all because of this messed-up quell. It is the first of its kind for the new hunger games, but I know that they were the stuff of nightmares back during the first round of the hunger games. As part of my training, I was told about as many hunger games as my parents can remember. My mom purposely avoided describing her own games in full, but my father told me the stories.

I am especially struck by the arena in the third quarter quell. The one where every hour signaled a brand new horror.

I shudder just thinking about it. For the sake of the tributes, I hope that they do not need to go through something so horrific.

We arrive at the bakery and step in quietly. Our entrance would have been silent if it weren't for the bell that rings every time the door opens.

The bakery is empty, but I know that my father is closing early today. He comes out of the kitchen and pastes on a smile. But I can see the solemn look in his eyes and know that he is feigning happiness for my sake.

My parents walk ahead of me, with their hands clasped together. I walk slightly behind them to try and sort out my own thoughts. But either way, my parents say nothing.

Mom is still in her private world, I can tell by the sideways glances that my dad gives her. And she never shifts her head. Not even at the flock of wild geese flying through the sky, honking loudly, and leaving droppings on the otherwise clean streets.

The house comes into view, a large, two-floor building. It has gray paneling and multiple windows. It looks unimpressive, especially compared to some of the mansions in the outskirts of the district, but there are so many people from the Seam who would see this house as a palace.

My dad reaches into his right pants pocket and brings out the house keys. They jingle as they swing around the ring they hang on. He inserts it into the lock and turns it clockwise. Then he swings the door open and we walk inside.

He immediately begins to prepare dinner for the evening. With a kind of gracefulness he doesn't show anywhere else, my dad moves around the kitchen, grabbing spices, produce, and chicken from the fridge. Watching him, it's almost as if he isn't missing a leg.

I remember the first time I realized that he lost a limb. I was probably five and never thought twice about his slight limp and the fact that he never wore shorts.

It had been a particularly long day at the bakery. He had been up since before dawn and kept on working until late. His limp was more pronounced than usual, but I still thought nothing of it.

In fact, I was completely clueless until my mom asked if his leg bothered him. Now I could have stayed silent and avoided hearing that grisly bit of news until later on, but instead, I asked, "Why would your leg bother you, Daddy?"

He grimaced and knelt down on one knee so that he could look at me from my height. "Well, Willow, I think that you are old enough to know the truth. Do you know how I was in the hunger games?" I nodded so he continued, "I went through a whole list of things that I'm not going to tell you about right now, but I ended up losing my leg." He lifted up his pants leg to show some scary metal contraption.

I screamed.

It took an hour to calm me down after that, but I didn't mention his leg anymore after that. And my dad never brought it up again.

I turn away since I have no idea how to cook, and I feel bad just watching. My mom is seated on the couch with her feet up on an ottoman. She is holding the TV remote in her hand, but I can tell that she is not paying attention to what is playing. She has that same blank expression in her eyes.

I sit down beside her and nudge her softly with my elbow. "Hey, mom."

She flinches before refocusing and turning to me. "Sorry. What is it, Willow?"

"Are you okay? You've seemed really out of it all day."

"Yes, I'm okay. What makes you think I've been tuned out?"

"Well, you're watching Capitol golf right now, and I'm pretty sure you don't like the Capitol. Or golf."

She glances at the television to confirm that what I said is true, and laughs. "I guess I have been distracted all day." She sighs, "It's just that I'm concerned about the quell. I know that you should be safe, but I am still not looking forward to it. After all, at least two people from here are going to be reaped. And I can't do anything to stop it."

I hug her, and whisper, "You don't need to worry about anything. I know you are doing your best. Just try not to think about it."

My mom turns back towards me and smiles, "Telling someone not to think about something will just make them think about it more."

I smirk, "Well, try your best."

I grab the remote from her and switch the channel to a cooking show. Both of us like to watch these because neither of us have amazing culinary talents, and we like to tell my dad that we're learning.

"Dinner's ready!" I turn off the television, knowing that it will turn on automatically when it is time for the president to announce the quell. Then, I help my mom get up from the couch and we take a seat at the dining room table where my dad is already waiting.

The meal passes by in near silence. Every once in a while, Dad tries to start a conversation, but these discussions end quickly and branch off into more awkward pauses.

I finish my plate quickly and bring it to the sink to wash it off. I have a view of the table from where I am standing, and I can see that my parents are speaking quietly. My dad reaches for my mom's hand, and I watch her grasp it as if it is a lifeline.

Suddenly, the loud blaring of the nation's anthem begins to play from the TV. I see my mom tense up, and her lips purse into a thin line. If I didn't know better, I would think that she is preparing for battle.

I take my place on the sofa, between my mom and dad. The camera moves from the waving flag to the president, standing outside his mansion.

From the corner of my eye, I can see my mother's face bunch up in disgust, anger, and even fear. I don't know exactly why she seems to take everything he does so personally, but I don't ask. There are so many things that I think I'm better off not knowing.

"Hello, people of Panem. As many of you know, tonight is the reading of this year's quell announcement." President Hawthorne puts on a smile that looks almost like a grimace. I have no doubt that he enjoys watching the bloodshed.

He pulls out an envelope from the chest pocket of his black suit. He clears his throat, and I can feel my mother grabbing my hand. Typically, I would shake her off, but I know that she needs the support. "As a reminder that even the youngest of us aren't safe, the reaping will be drawn with children from ages eight to fourteen."

For a moment, I can't comprehend what this means. But my mother's gasp and the wild look of panic in my dad's eyes can only mean one thing.

I don't have another two years to wait and train.

I might be going into the arena.

And if my mother is right, the odds are most certainly not in my favor.