The red headed victor sat on a cool metal examination table. The same table he first laid on when he was brought to the capital and being prepared for the tribute parade. It was so lonely and solemn without the others. He huffed and glanced to where his right arm ended. Where his hand should have been. His brain was telling it to move. But it was gone nothing to do about it. Every once and a while he swore it would itch, and he'd go to scratch it only to remember it was gone.
The young victor lay back, placing his cheek on the cool table just as a burly man walked in. Blonde hair and eyes hidden behind deep blue glasses, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pristine lab coat and the other clutched a thick clip board.
"Good morning Mr. Rose." He started as the flipped though the papers on the clip board. "President Snow has opted for reconstructive surgery on your hand. Say we can't have a victor bein' all mopey an' useless on us.-"
Abraham sat up and furrowed his brow, "I have not been moping!" He protested, "You guys have had me locked up in this room."
The man continued, pretending to not notice Abraham's comments. "We aren't actually done developing this technology however. I can guarantee it will not be an easy process to recover from. But if it is a success I can personally vouch for your satisfaction."
As he finished a small nurse came in holding a tray of syringes. "This is morphling. She said meekly, "We will be using it to put you under for your surgery."
The man took a syringe and stuck it into Abraham's arm before he could think of protesting. His eyelids slid shut and he lay back onto the table as the morphling took effect. The sensation of nothingness spread though his arms and legs until he could feel nothing and fell asleep.
The boy stirred awake. He'd been moved to a different room. It was warmer and he now laid in a bed. He strained to sit up. Every part of him was sore and tight. He glanced down his arm and saw a bright purple bruise where the nurses had stuck his with morphling. How much did they give him, how long was he out? Abraham scanned the room for a clock he noticed the female nurse asleep on in a chair close to his bed.
She awoke as soon as he began to look away. "I see the morphling hasn't killed you. " She muttered still a little groggy from her nap. "How's your hand?"
Abe began to look down hesitantly. In truth he remembered being prepped for the surgery to get another hand but he didn't want to be disappointed. He didn't want to look down and see bare robotic or the lack of a hand. The way he had left the arena. Abe shook his head he hadn't wanted to think about that either. The boy was very skilled at putting things off, repressing memories and all together avoiding the reality in which he lived in.
He looked to his wrist and saw a hand at the end. The skin around it was stark white. It'd probably burn the second it made contact with sunlight. Not to mention how poorly it matched his tanned complexion. Abe moved the fingers and made fist, then looked to the nurse. "I half expected it to not work." He finally replied.
The nurse chuckled lightly and got up from her chair, "It's the latest and greatest. Sorry about the skin tone difference. You have to tan in on your own."
The boy nodded, it would take a while, and it looked so out of place.
"Well come on got an interview with Caesar this afternoon and then they'll send you home for a bit."
Abraham sighed and before he could blink the prep team rushed in. Giving lots of hugs and compliments He tuned out their mindless droning after second.
i "You looked ridiculous in your parade outfit." Serenade remarked in between bites of the swamp rodent they'd caught earlier. "I didn't want to say anything you looked so nervous."
Abraham looked over at her and smirked, "Well then you must have looked equally ridiculous. Our stylists work together.
The girl laughed and laid at the base of the tree and rolled over.
Abe sighed, she wasn't going to say anything else. Serena had a habit of never finishing what she was saying.
This is the story of the Victor Abraham Rose and his life after his Hunger Games.
Nothing too exciting.