CHAPTER 1
I woke up this morning to my mother screaming and crying, another nightmare if I had to guess. I sigh quietly to myself and get out of my small bed, slip on my house shoes, and run to my mothers room, hopping up onto the bed with her. My father already was sitting up with her, his arms pulling her into an embrace, smoothing down her hair, but I sit on her lap anyway. I softly rub her arm "It was just a dream..." I whisper, my dad repeats it in his low, calm voice "Just a dream...". My mother looks from me to him and she nods slowly, pulling us into a tight hug. I giggle a bit into her shoulder. That's when my little brother runs in,( I think it looks kind of funny when he runs). I watch as Rye gets up on the bed with us and we all sit in a group hug. This happens a lot. My mom and dad get bad dreams quite often, about something called "The Games" and something about roses, I think, but I don't understand. I think games are fun. I play them with Rye all the time, and roses are pretty and smell good, I just don't like the thorns, but don't get me wrong, I like being able to get this time with them. I smell the flour on my father from his job at the bakery, the smell of pine from my mom being in the woods, and the smell of my fathers famous sugar cookies that Rye undoubtedly ate without me. It feels good to be close enough to notice the small things like this, because the smallest of things, are the ones we cherish the most, at least that's what was painted on my parents wall, it was in small writing and it didn't take up much space, but it was probably my favorite part of our house. After we start pulling away from the hug I look up at my mom"Mommy, what was it this time..?" I ask her softly, she just shakes her head and says what she always tells me, every time I ask her, "Nothing, Pumpkin, just the past...". Every morning I've asked, just wanting to help, this is what she gives me "Nothin Pumpkin". I wish I understood these things, I wish I could help. I remember one day that my father sat me down, he was going to explain it, hopefully explain it all, but my mom got mad and stopped him before he finished his third sentence. There was 1. "Willow, we need to talk..." , 2. "I need to tell you about what's been going on, its only fair for you to know" and then 3. "When your mom and i were young, people w-...", then my mom came, cutting him short of my solution, my key to the real world, to knowing what had happened only a few short years ago, about why my mother and father are the way they are, why I hear the quiet sobs from their room, talking about missing "Her", missing "her", oh how much she was missing "Her". Whoever "Her " was...
She always says that times used to be so different. Kids look at me and Rye weird sometimes, some look at us like royalty why the others treat us like trash, I always have a strong feeling it has to do with what they won't tell me. My mom smooth's down my dark hair in a calming way, pulling it back into a braid like hers, she knows how much I love it when she does this, so I give her a small smile, hoping that my small smile, a small thing, almost unnoticeable, might make her forget about the dream, the roses, and "The Games" that I may or may not ever understand.