Wow, it's been like 3 years since I've visited this story. If you've followed/favorited this story and have been waiting patiently for an update, thank you for waiting. I have finally found the inspiration to hopefully finish this story, and I hope you enjoy what I have planned for it! If you have any ideas for how you want the story to unfold, please don't hesitate to let me know.
We decide to stay in the bakery until either everything calmed down or our parent came to save us to bring us back home. Who knows how long both of those would take, but we decide to just ride it out. We had been told when we were much, much younger that if we ever became lost in town that we would wait in one spot so we would have a better chance of our parents finding us. So, we use that advice in our current situation, knowing that our parents are aware the bakery is one of the locations we all spoke about us visiting.
"Rye," I begin, not exactly knowing what words I want to say. I'm scared and I want to go are both something I want to voice, but these are not courageous words. I need to stay strong for both of us for fear is as contagious as a blazing wildfire. "Rye, we need to hide until Mom and Dad get here. We can't be out in the open like this," I whisper as I quickly look around us, already knowing our surroundings but I need to deduce the safest option. "The office."
The two of us shuffle on our hands and knees, scurrying as quickly as we can to our fathers' office, quietly shutting and locking the door behind us. There is a window in the door to where if we crouch behind the desk, we could still have decent sight in the bakery, knowing if someone broke in or not. Or if our parents come to retrieve us from our hiding spot. Clutching tightly onto Rye's arm, I wait with bated breath listening to muffled yelling outside trying to see if it getting closer, but I couldn't tell. The people are too far away to hear exactly is occurring, but we both hear a couple more shots being fired, and the yelling intensifies. I think I hear a stray 'Mockingjay' in the jumbled mess of shouting which definitely settles the speculation that this a revolt against the announcement of the Hunger Games. Why are they angry, though? Their children aren't going to be thrown in the arena forced to fight to the death. Why should they care?
Maybe it's because this will be the commencement of more Hunger Games. Rye and I will be tossed into the games, expected to kill our friends, and then once that is over, more games will follow suit. Why else would they bring it back after twenty-five years? Why would they only have one Hunger Games pitting the victors' children against each other and then not have more? It was not only revenge, but revival of the Hunger Games. The rebirth of a new killing era after they allowed the districts to heal, reunite, and rebrand, and now the Capitol is once again ruining the peace. Everything had been fine, and everything was finally how it should be.
"Where do you think they are?" My brother asks, clenching onto me as well, equally as nervous as I.
"They probably waited a little bit to see if we would come straight home. They're probably on their way here to find us, knowing we would stay put. Our parents know us very well. They'll come for us," I reassure him, trying to keep my voice steady. The anxious one was calming the usual collected one; the Hunger Games was already creating rifts in the normalcy between us.
"Yeah, they'll be here any moment," he replied, his words more towards himself for self-reassurance than towards me so I don't reply.
We sit, allowing ourselves to be swallowed in the silence of the office, the sounds of anger and frustration still continuing outside. It was only a ten to fifteen minute walk from our home, so Mom and Dad would be arriving briefly since it had been almost an hour since the rioting had begun. They would have waited for my brother and me to barge through the doors so we could all hide together, not engaging in any of the revolting. The district was most likely not expecting the Mockingjay to show her face after all these years, after all she had been through, after learning that her own children would have endure what she did all those years ago. Rye and I are the same exact age she and Dad were in their first Hunger Games, surely they would know that she would want to only protect us and not participate in any rebelling. We needed to be in our best to be able to compete fairly and hopefully win.
But in my honest opinion, she wouldn't want to participate at all. If she did, it would be at the last minute where she would absolutely have to join. To the Mockingjay, her family came first before anything else; if there were to be another rebellion, that would have to wait until she knew her family was safe and sound.
"Do you remember," Rye's soft voice startled me after being silent so long, "when we were little, not knowing any better, and hid from my Mom and Dad? Not knowing exactly what happened in their past, because we were too little to understand the games." He continued after nodding my head, signaling that I remembered. "I regret scaring them like that. I know we didn't know any better at that age. We must have been four or five; games to us only meant hide and seek or tag. We scared the living shit out of them, and I think that will haunt me forever when I finally realized why they were so terrified when we got older. We were just playing hide and seek, and they panicked because we didn't tell them that's what we were doing. Like playing opossum at night, pretending we're asleep, but that, that was their biggest fear: losing us." Rye talks when he's nervous, able to to talk himself out of his nervousness while I wallow in it. Willow the Wallower, Rye calls me when I lose myself in my sometimes suffocating thoughts.
"We never did it again without informing them, though. We learned pretty quick that our parents aren't like others. I remember seeing the fear in Mom's eyes that day and not wanting to see anything like that ever again." I think that was where my anxiety rooted itself in my chest and hooked deep within my brain. As time progressed and as I got a little older to where I understood why our parents acted the way they did, that was when the panic sprouted, blossoming its ugly face to the world where it scared my parents once again and forced me to finally tell them that it had been only a matter of time. I had explained that all this time I had been a wreck, not knowing how to voice until my first panic attack. Our whole family was a mess, a united little bunch who was just trying to survive with what we had: each other.
"Rye!"
"Willow!"
I feel as if it's almost too good to be true after hearing their voice enter the vicinity of the bakery, but we scramble from behind the desk and see our parents in the kitchen area, frantically searching for any clue that we were seeking refuge here. I had been right, they were going to come to find us after waiting a little while for our return at home.
"We were right, Peeta," our mother breathed as we unlocked the door and threw ourselves in our parents' arms, relief flooding my constricting chest. Her worry melted into a stern expression, almost as if she was mentally returning to the warzone. "We need to get out of here, but you have to do me a favor. When we make our way back home, we need to move fast and you don't look behind you. Do you two hear me?" Her eyes desperately search for confirmation in both of us before the pair of us agree to her terms before our escape even though the inquisitive side of me wants to know what's to be hidden from our young, impressionable minds. What would happen if I break my promise? I'll be thrown in the arena, what could worse than that?
Before I could even think of anymore questions, I follow everyone else outside. Mom nor Dad bother locking the door as we begin to sprint down the stairs and towards the safety and comfort of our home. Away from the danger of the revolt in District 12. But the itch to know what's happening becomes unbearable, and I just simply can't not look.
I need to see what's so bad behind us.
Going against my promise to my mother, I turn my head to see the commotion not as far away as I originally thought. They're right next to the Hob, and many of the people who are arguing and very visibly angry are recognizable. My breath catches as if it all happens in slow motion, my brain racing to process every movement. The guards trying to keep the peace, not brandishing their weapons as they understand the citizens' anger and frustration. They are not like the Peacekeepers from my parents' time. The guards are obviously empathizing with everyone as they don't want the games to return either, but the panic is increasing within the crowd and someone grabs a silver tool of some sort of whacks one of the guards over the head with it. From where I am, I instantly realize that it's Bones.
"No!" I yell in anguish, now turning my whole body towards the outcry of our neighbors and friends. My feet are still pulling me to continue the destination of home, stepping backwards but slowly. I don't want to just sit at home and wait for this to be over, and I have an overwhelming feeling of needing to help. Someone cries out my name, grabs a hold of my arm and tries to turn me around again. But I can't not do anything. I don't care who's grabbing at me, hurrying me along; I stop moving altogether for a brief second. "Come on, Willow, we need to go. We can't do anything right now," their panic bleeding through every syllable. It sounds like Rye. It'll only a matter of seconds before my father basically picks me up and carries me home.
But maybe I can. Maybe I can change something.
I dig my feet adorned in worn boots into the dirt, forcibly yank my arm away from whoever is holding onto it, and begin my sprint towards my friend who is still on the ground. My calves burn as I push my body the most I've ever pushed it, and I arrive just in time as the same person who struck Bones down is raising the weapon once more, preparing to inflict more damage. "No" I yell once more, "Please!" My voice is shaking with adrenaline and fear, pleading the man to stop. It is a plead for everyone to stop, but for now it is focused on the man who I have seen around before, but I can't place the name.
I crouch down and hover over Bones' unconscious body, protecting him with mine. He had always been there to protect me; it was about time I repay the favor. It didn't matter if it was his job to protect me, I had to do something for him. Family looks after family. Looking up at the man, I hope he has heard my cry and that my facial expression says everything he needs to know. My arm is outstretched in front of me, slightly bent, braced for any kind of painful impact. With my palm facing him, everything in my posture telling him to stop, but I am willing to take as many blows as it takes to save my friend.