A Waking Nightmare (TNHID Book 2)

Chapter 8

Katniss

"Willow Mellark!"

I had been preparing myself to hear her name. So why does it feel like I have been pummeled by a bag full of rocks?

But I am surprised to find that fear isn't the emotion that overwhelms me. At the forefront, I'm angry, furious. Hatred floods through me, clenching my hands into fists. Two emotions that have been evading me for the past ten years, finding me in the exact moment I expected to shatter.

Sure I was livid at the government, and I despised Gale. But not like this. This is like the blazing fires of hell. It burns on and on for eternity. I am blinded by rage and all I want to do at the moment is jump through the window of Gale's study and slit his throat.

I can feel some of my old self resurfacing. The one who didn't fear death, who would go out fighting.

I look directly into the camera, sure that I am getting a close-up. But I will make sure that Gale knows I am not shaken. I glare, imagining that the red light is Gale's bloodied face, and I imagine the satisfaction slowly cutting him open would give me. Carving intricate patterns into his skin while he begs me to just kill him. But I'd just smile and continue the torment. I shake my head slightly to clear the gruesome image from my mind. Now is not the time to be thinking about the method of Gale's demise.

I watch Willow walk up to the stage. Her passive expression wavers briefly, showing her terror underneath. But she readjusts and feigns indifference. Anybody watching may think it was a trick of the light, or not even notice her slip-up at all. I feel a twinge of pride knowing that I was the one who taught her that. And to my relief, she doesn't look like the strongest of competitors, but she looks like she could hold her own.

She walks up the steps to the stage and pulls at the hem of her skirt before standing next to Vesta.

"Now, for the boys!" Vesta walks the short distance to the male reaping ball and puts her hand inside. She makes a huge show of grabbing multiple papers, dropping them all back in, then picking up another one. She seems to notice something wrong with the paper because she lets it fall back to the bottom. I roll my eyes. Just get on with it, woman. Finally, she grabs one more slip of paper. This is the one she takes out and unfolds slowly. "Blaise Lebone!" she reads.

I don't recognize the name, but when I see the fiery red hair moving towards the stage, I recognize the boy. He is about twelve years old and is a frequent customer at Peeta's bakery. His mother shares his hair, and you can tell exactly who they are just from their locks.

Red hair is not a common thing in the district, so it is easily recognizable.

Unfortunately for him, Blaise is pretty much the kindest person in Panem. I've never seen him make any sort of misstep, and he is always polite. He is one of the hopeless cases going into the games.

"Let's hear a round of applause for District 12's tributes." There is some sparse applause, but most people are just silent. After all, it is always horrible when 12 or 13-year-olds are sent into the arena, but this year people as young as eight may be competing. To the credit of the resistance, I watch as they press the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, and then raise them. I immediately join in, and I see Peeta on my other side doing the same. I find his hand and he clutches it tightly. He is in pain, I can see that. And I am too. But we will not go along with the government. We will never stop resisting, even if it is the cause of our downfall.

The rest of the crowd notices this and they begin to do the same until every hand is raised in this salute. I wonder what Gale will make of this, this small act of rebellion that is oh so familiar. I smile slightly at the thought. I will welcome anything that causes him discomfort.