AUTHOR'S NOTE: This takes place after the series ends, so it obviously contains some spoilers.
I wake up to screaming, but that's nothing new. I do most nights. Usually it's mom, but dad does it sometimes too. Mom says he has more nightmares than she does, but he's quieter about it. When I was little, I'd go running to see if they were OK. Dad's wide-eyed, unmoving horror frightened me so badly I had nightmares of my own for a week. Mom told me not to worry; they'd handle it like they always do. Sometimes, though, there would be quiet nights where no one would wake in terror. Usually that was because they were wrapped up tight in each other's arms, like they were shielding each other from the bad dreams.
I would cling to a little stuffed duck my dad bought me to help me sleep on the bad nights. Mom used to hate it and I never knew why. Dad says it reminded her of her sister, who I'm named after. She was a healer, he said, and gentle. I must take after my mom. My little brother, though, he takes after her, or at least I think so. Mom says he also takes after dad, but I can't usually see it. He takes after dad 'before,' she says. They don't really talk about 'before' much. Just little bits here and there, about her sister, his parents, how the Seam used to look… and, rarely, The Games. The nightmares are worse on those nights.
She teaches me how to hunt and makes dad teach me how to camouflage myself, and both of them insist I learn how to use a knife. Sometimes mom tries to teach me about edible plants and which are good for medicine, but she usually gets that distant look on her face and has to stop. When that happens, I go read the family book. I've learned a lot that way.
As I got older, I started to sneak into the library to read the other book, but I try not to let mom see because it upsets her. I go to my favorite page—the page about the man my brother is named after—and read it over again. Mostly I like to look at the picture dad painted. He has a kind face. Mom talks about him sometimes, before she gets too choked up to continue. I wonder if my brother will grow up to be more like our aunt or if he'll grow up to design clothes like his namesake.
Sometimes I read other pages and sit there for hours, trying to learn what I can about 'before' and The Games. I learn a bit more about why mom and dad act the way they do, but I know there's a lot they don't tell me. Like why my dad looked so unhappy and mom had an expression I couldn't read when I showed an interest in her friend Rory's son. Back at home, dad told her that "at least she knows who she wants." Mom got so angry at him that she wouldn't talk to him for a day. Dad holed himself up in the kitchen baking dozens of cheese rolls, sometimes clinging tightly to the countertop with those wide, hazy eyes, and looked at me once to ask me, "Real or not real?" I didn't know what he meant, but I answered "real" anyway. That seemed to calm him, and he nodded, continuing to bake. When mom finally came home from hunting, he met her with a cheese roll and an apology. She forgave him, as they always do. They need each other, my parents. I think without the other, they would fall apart. We ate wild turkey and cheese rolls that night, and he never said that again.
Still, life is good here. They tell me how much better it is now, how much greener, how much less hungry. I see them watching me and my brother play in the meadow, and sometimes they're fully there, just smiling and happy and free for that one moment. I live for those moments, when dad isn't lost inside his mind and mom isn't weighed down by dark, heavy thoughts. When dad grabs me in his surprisingly strong arms and spins me around, I laugh and grin and grab mom's hand to pull her in to us. My brother grabs her other hand, and we're all spinning and smiling and laughing, and the sun feels good on our skin, and the flowers smell fresh on the air, and the ground feels soft under our feet, and I can see that they are free. Sometimes… life can hold good things, too.