A/N: Trigger warning for the Reaping POV.


Chapter 5:

Sasha Kolster, 16, District Three

Two Weeks Before The Reaping

Sasha always hates walking into this place. Well, if whatever she is doing could even be called walking… She hates the pitiful looks the older patients give her. She hates the sad smiles the staff gives her as they keep encouraging her. And she really hates doing something that seems to be making no progress at all.

"Mom can we just admit already that this isn't working?" Sasha begs her mother as she leads the way into the center, letting Sasha hobble behind her with her cane.

"No, dear," her mother calls over her shoulder as she keeps heading right to the front desk. Sasha scowls at her back, wondering how much trouble she would get in if she hit her mother with her cane – not like, hard, really, just enough to express her annoyance at this in a way her mother might actually comprehend. It's partially her fault she's like this in the first place since she didn't believe that Sasha's symptoms were serious, even accused her of being hungover because of the pounding headache and slurred speech. As if Sasha would be hungover! She's never even had a sip of alcohol. Thanks a lot, Mom. Thanks for contributing to her disability.

Instead, Sasha heads over to one of the waiting room chairs while her mother checks in, picking up one of the lame ass magazines they have to read while waiting. She flips through it briefly before tossing it back, really not needing to know about how to have a healthy heart in her 60s. Sasha sighs as she goes to sit down and soon starts scowling when some middle aged man jumps up to try and help her sit down. "I'm fine," she snaps at him as she lowers herself down using the armrest of the chair before picking up her right leg and adjusting how it rests.

The man shakes his head as he goes back to sitting with the older man he's with, mumbling something about how teenagers are so ungrateful. Sasha is unable to bite her tongue – irony considering she did nearly bite off part of her tongue when the right side of her face went numb – and snaps at him once more. "You would be ungrateful too if you were crippled at sixteen."

"Sasha Lynn!" Her mother yells over at her as she walks over, hands on her hips and looking ashamed by her actions. "Apologize!"

"No," Sasha grumbles as she crosses her arms and shuts her eyes, leaning back in her chair to try and nap while they inevitably have to wait a while.

She can hear her mother talking to the man, "I'm so sorry about her. She has been so irritated since the accident."

Sure, now she calls it an accident. Sasha's scowl deepens as her mother talking over her bothers her more than it usually does and she doesn't understand why. She hears her mother sit next to her and sigh heavily, and Sasha knows she's about to get lectured. "Sasha, you can't yell at people like that when they are just trying to help you."

"I didn't need help," Sasha responds quietly, keeping her eyes shut so she doesn't have to look at her mother's scolding face. "And if I did, I probably wouldn't have asked anyways."

"There's nothing wrong with asking for help, you know?" Her mother tells her, and Sasha just shakes her head at her and stays quiet. "Gosh, you're so stubborn. I don't know where you get that from."

"I got it from you," Sasha answers as she opens her eyes and slides further down into her seat. She leans her head against the back of the chair and stares up at the ceiling, intensely studying the ceiling tiles in her boredom.

"No, you got it from your father," her mother tells her, just proving Sasha's point because she can't admit her own stubbornness. But thankfully that's all she says and they sit in peaceful silence, occasionally interrupted by her mother flipping through one of the lame magazines and making comments under her breath or the nurses taking a different patient back.

"Sasha Kolster?"

"Here we go," Sasha says with a heavy sigh as she pushes down on the arm rests to bring herself up to a better seated position. She ignores her mother's outstretched hand and stubbornly stands up on her own, even though she can feel her leg wanting to give out on her. Her mother sighs at her, but doesn't say anything about it, letting Sasha feel a bit of satisfaction at doing this on her own.

Once standing and depending on her cane once more, the nurse smiles at her before gesturing back. "Right this way," he says before leading the way through the familiar building that Sasha has spent more time in than school in the past four months.

Sasha can feel her mood continuing to degrade as she enters the rehabilitation room and sees the familiar tools that they have tried to use to help her regain function in her leg. She sighs when the nurse leads her to the walking bars, knowing this is where she struggles the most. "Dr. Maynard will be here in a moment but let's stretch that leg."

"Yeah, whatever," Sasha says as he brings over a foldable chair and lets her sit without trying to offer assistance. He gently starts flexing her leg, stretching the poor muscles that aren't getting used as much anymore, and Sasha watches him, wondering why she doesn't feel more embarrassed that the cute young nurse is helping her. Her friends always comment about how they would be crushing so hard on him if they were Sasha. Maybe you lose the ability to feel embarrassed about things after spending time in the hospital and needing someone to wipe our ass as a teenager.

The stretches do feel nice on her leg, which only makes her tense up in anticipation of the work she'll have to do whenever Dr. Maynard gets here. Her muscles are always sore after these sessions and she hates it. Yeah, it's a necessary part of it, but doesn't mean she has to like it.

"Hello, Sasha, good to see you," Dr. Maynard says as he enters the room and approaches her.

Sasha does her best not to let her annoyance show too much as she grumbles a greeting to him. "Hello."

"We're going to start with some walking exercises, okay?" Dr. Maynard tells her and Sasha just shrugs.

"You're the doctor, so okay," Sasha answers, not being able to fully restrain her sass.

To Dr. Maynard's credit, he doesn't let his smile falter as the two help her over to the two bars for her walking exercises. She knows what she has to do, having done this many times before, but she knows she won't have them supporting her weight anymore.

And it's just going to end up with her on the floor once more.

Still, Sasha starts to walk, appeasing her mother by trying each task in rehabilitation. Her steps are slow as she tries to put more weight on her right foot and not limp like she normally does, her leg guided by Dr. Maynard and the nurse in front of her to stop her from hurting herself.

And it's a good thing he's there as it doesn't take long for her leg to give out and for her to stumble towards the floor, the nurse catching her and stopping her from hurting herself further.

"See I told you this isn't working," Sasha tells her mother as staff helps her back up and she tries her best to hold back her tears of frustration. "I'm not getting any further. We're just wasting time and money here."

"It is common for progress to happen at a slower rate after the first three months," Dr. Maynard tells her, surely trying to reassure her, but it doesn't work. "The rehabilitation in the three to six months immediately after is crucial and you'll still see improvement, but it is up to you to keep up with it. I understand the frustration right now and you are certainly not the first patient I have seen that has wanted to give up at this time."

"Oh she's not giving up," her mother interjects, not giving Sasha time to give a sassy comment about how she's probably the youngest patient he's seen. "How do we make sure she keeps recovering?"

The doctor turns his attention to her mother and it's as if Sasha's not even standing there. "She needs to keep regularly attending rehabilitation sessions here and keeping up on the home exercises on the days in-between. The worst thing she could do is to stop exercising and working the muscles. That is going to lead to atrophy and that is a lot harder to fix."

"Right, of course she'll keep exercising," her mother nods her head while Sasha just feels a growing annoyance and pit of…of something she doesn't understand in her stomach. "And I know you explained before, but what is atrophy?"

"The loss of muscle mass," Dr. Maynard explains as Sasha starts feeling overwhelmed by all of this going on. "It's leads to weakness and if it becomes serious enough, she could-"

"She's right here!" Sasha finally interrupts them, tired of them talking like she's not even there. And with that, the uneasy feeling keeps growing in her, yet she can't figure out why… It's not from the doctors or her mother… "I'm right here," she emphasizes and feels better at that. "And I would appreciate it if you didn't talk like I had brain damage and – okay, I did, but not like that. I can still understand everything just fine. It's just my fucking leg that no longer works!"

The two are temporarily stunned into silence and Sasha shakes her head, feeling like she's on the verge of crying and refusing to do that now. "I…I need to use the bathroom." The nurse helps her walk over and Sasha is too upset to protest it, too focused on doing her best to hold in her tears of frustration until she reaches the bathroom, knowing her mother never handles it well when she cries. She hasn't handled any of this well… But once the door is closed and locked behind her, Sasha can no longer hold in a sob as she grips the rail and lowers herself onto the toilet lid. She can't even sit down on a toilet without assistance, she's so pathetic.

She puts her head in her hands, trying to keep her sobs from being too loud to worry her mother. Why did this have to happen to her? She never did anything wrong. She got good grades at school and did volunteer work. The doctors all told her it was rare to see this happen in children her age and for many of them, it was the first time they had seen it. It was why it took so long to diagnose, only making the damage worse…because who would have thought she was having a stroke? It was an old people thing.

So what the fuck did she do to deserve to have a stroke at sixteen?

Why is she sitting here in the bathroom of a rehabilitation center while other kids her age are out having fun and living their healthy lives? And not even the kind of rehab that would be expected of teenagers, the kind for old people.

Sasha grabs a bunch of toilet paper and uses it to wipe at her eyes and blow her nose, feeling so pitiful. She's not getting better, no matter what the doctor says. She's been at this same point for weeks now and can't see how she'll keep improving. And her poor parents have to keep spending their life savings on her for something that's not even working. She's seen the tired looks in her father's eyes as he gets home late from working extra hours – she knows he's lying about going to do something else. She knows her mother is tired of having to constantly be helping her around the house to do the most basic tasks, even if she says she doesn't mind.

And it won't ever end. She's going to be crippled for the rest of her damn life.

Sasha leans her head against the cool tiles of the wall, trying to stop her tears so her mother doesn't keep worrying about her in here. Her parents would be so much better off without her or if she got reaped in a couple weeks. No more paying off expensive hospital bills or helping her do things as basic as bathing herself. But no, that's fucking dumb. Why the fuck would she want to get sent into the Hunger Games? In her current pathetic state, that's even more of a death sentence compared to before she ever had a stroke.

"Sasha?"

There's a knock at the door and Sasha quickly wipes away any remaining tears and throws away the wad of toilet paper before flushing the toilet to make it seem like she was just peeing – or probably shitting based on how long she's been in here.

"Are you okay?" Her mother asks, genuine concern in her voice with no nagging that takes Sasha by surprise for a moment. Sasha hesitates about standing up, guilt starting to plague her that she constantly takes out her frustration on her mother when she does so much for her. But what is she supposed to do? Be all happy and cheery and pretend that life doesn't suck major ass?

"I…I'm fine, just lunch not agreeing with my stomach," Sasha calls out before pulling herself up with the bar. She takes a few seconds to steady herself and make sure she won't fall over and hit her head on the toilet or something, last thing she needs is to add a physical head injury to her brain damage. "I'll be out in a minute."

Sasha hobbles over to the sink, leaning against it for support as she gets her hands wet and splashes water onto her face, trying to reduce the redness of her eyes. But she's not fooling anyone. It's as clear as day that she was in here crying.

She throws open the door, knowing she'll never fool her mother and wanting to just get it over with. Her mother is right on the other side of the door, face full of concern for Sasha as she looks over her, seemingly checking for injuries. Her eyes linger on Sasha's red eyes and soon she pulls her into a hug, only making Sasha start crying once more. "I know it's tough and that I'm tough on you… But you can't give up. You're so stubborn and you need to channel that stubbornness into this, not fighting against it."

"I know," Sasha answers as she clings onto her mother. She knows what she has to do, but it just seems so hopeless right now. She just doesn't see how she's going to ever get back full function of her leg…

And she's terrified of living this way for the rest of her life.


Joyce Syllers, Escort for District Three

The Games are always the worst time for Joyce, despite being the one thing that actually gets her moving and out of the house once more. She enjoys the opportunity to help others and be selfless towards the tributes she picks, but being around all that death… It's impossible to not be reminded of all the loss she's experienced in her own life. Her ex-husband…her son's…every partner of hers…

Death just follows Joyce around everywhere. It's no wonder she hasn't brought any tributes home alive yet. Maybe they'd be better off without her...surely everyone would be better off then.

"Where's my will?" Joyce mutters as she approaches the microphone, looking around anxiously at the crowd gathered in front of her, feeling all of their eyes on her. The Reaping is always the worst part for her to handle… So much fear and anxiety present among the gathered crowd, all watching her and waiting to know if she will doom them. "Should have made me will…"

Joyce shakes her head and takes a long, deep breath, trying to calm down the anxiety building in her that is quickly threatening to take complete control over her. She's done this before…she can get through the Reaping and once this is over, she'll be able to just focus on helping out her two tributes… Which is much easier said than done.

"Hello, District Three," Joyce says nervously and she clasps her hands in front of her to stop herself from wringing them. "You should, uh…know who I am… But if not-" Joyce cuts off with a screech of the microphone and cringes away from it for a moment. At the sound of a few snickers from the crowd, Joyce lets out an anxious laugh as her heart rate picks up. "I'm, uh, Joyce Sellers and, um…yeah, the Reaping."

Joyce stares at the crowd for a few seconds before quickly turning away from their stares. She wipes her palms on her pants as she heads to the first bowl of names, trying to focus on just picking a tribute so she can move on from this. Yet she spends too much time picking the first tribute, anxious about picking the right one. Finally, she just picks one and heads back to the microphone, standing far enough away to hopefully prevent any additional bad feedback. "Okay, our first tribute is…uh…Sasha Kolster."

Joyce waits for what seems like an agonizingly long time until Sasha finally steps out of the crowd of sixteen year olds. Sasha has a deep scowl on her face as she limps up towards the stage, relying on the use of a cane. She brushes back a piece of dark hair that has slipped forward, using the action to subtly brush her cheek and wipe away a tear falling. Joyce's heart breaks for the girl, not knowing what could have happened to her at a young age. "Hello, dear," Joyce says as Sasha reaches the stage.

Sasha cringes away from Joyce, making the escort freeze up. "Don't call me dear when you just sentenced me to death."

Joyce frowns at her, feeling hurt that Sasha has pushed away her effort to help. Of course she has…why would she want Joyce's help? "Very well…anyone volunteering for Sasha? No…? Okay…next tribute then…"

Joyce lets out a sigh as she holds back tears, her anxiety almost getting the best of her after Sasha's reaction. She just wants to help them… And now, who knows how the other tribute will react? They might push Joyce away, leaving her with nothing left… Joyce stares at the second glass bowl for a minute, trying to will herself to just pick a name already. When she finally reaches in, she picks one of the first names she touches. "And our second tribute is…Samis McCree…"

Not as much time passes as it took Sasha to leave the crowd for Samis to step forward from the seventeen year olds, looking ahead blankly with shock written all over his pale face. His mop of curly blond hair is in his face, yet he doesn't make any effort to move it out of the way, clearly too much in shock. Joyce tries giving him a small smile when he reaches the stage, but he stares blankly out at the crowd. "Hello, Samis…"

The sound of his name snaps him out of his shock and he looks over at Joyce and gives her a brief nod of acknowledgement, but stays quiet. Which is at least better than Sasha's reaction… "Well, I suppose I need to ask but…are there any volunteers for Samis? No…?"

Joyce gives a loud sigh as she holds back tears. Great…another year of no volunteers and only one tribute who seems like they might actually want her help… "I guess that's it, then. Our two tributes, Sasha and Samis."


Welcome to the first update of 2020! We're starting out with the second of my four, Sasha! And of course, big thanks to Professor RJ Lupin1 and Platrium for Samis and Joyce respectively!

So yeah, here's Sasha! She's very good and valid in her frustration and sass given what has happened to her.

RQ #5: I got nothing XD Uhhh...from Dreamer: what would you do if snowed in by a blizzard?

Alrighty, I'll see you soon with the next chapter when we head to D9!