A/N: By the way, with the current 261 reviews we have on this, and an average of 6 reviews per chapter at the moment, when this finishes at chapter 50 we should have 351 reviews, which is fifteen reviews short of at least drawing with Kill Or Be Killed (which is a little target I've set myself, and all you lot). So that means we need at least 7 reviews per chapter now, to draw with the amount of reviews Kill Or Be Killed has (uhuh, this computer comes with a calculator! ;P). So come on guys, I need your help here! I'm not about to ransom chapters for reviews or anything silly, it's just that I want to make this the most sucessful story I've ever written on here, which, when you think about it, is fair enough. So all you guys (there's about thirty of you reading this at least, I should know) PLEASE pop in a review or two and help me out, okay? Please?
By the time Zen gets there it's just too late. He ran faster than any mutt I've ever seen, using the rope to literally swing over large obstacles such as trees or fallen logs, he cut through the poisonous ivy trying to snare and entangle him with his bare teeth, never minding the consequences, he yelled madly as water sprayed everywhere when he leapt through a pond, not even bothering to run around as he charged through it in pure desperation. Yes, I decide, Zen has officially gone mad.
But when he gets there it's just too late, as it was for me with Vivian and as it was with Precious to save Anvike. Just too late. The hammering of his heart, the pain as he screams manically. His charge to there, that spot, at the edge of the muddy patch of trees, finishes when he screeches to a stop. Finishes when he has to stop, not just mentally blocked by the sight in front of him, but physically blocked by Boudicca, her arm almost gently probing the space in front of him, not blocking him in a menacing way, but a delicate one, as if to say you don't want to go there. And you don't, because Zen is just too late.
Angel's body lies on the floor, almost like she's sleeping, you wouldn't know the difference if it wasn't for the small trace of red across her neck and her clear eyes open, yet leeched of colour somehow. All because Zen is just too late. Her coal coloured hair, just like what they mine in her district, is curled around her face just like it was when she entered arena and had just stepped out of her stylist's grasp. Just too late. Her olive skin has barely a speck of dirt in it, clean and purged of anything, yet anything includes life. Just too late. Her glassy grey eyes stare through the thick, dense patch of forest, right up into the open sky as if dreaming, wishing, waiting; yet her dream was just too late. Just too late.
"Can you- can you let me through?" Zen croaks at Boudicca in hope, his voice barely able to say anything, but instead of the expected brisk shake of the head there's a silent nod of acceptance and understanding as her hand withdraws and lets him past.
Carefully Zen creeps forward as if he is standing on sacred ground. I can't help but feel a terrible bubbling sensation rise again in my stomach, but it's slower this time and is accompanied by a shiver down my spine, this reminds me too much, too much of what happened to Vivian, to Dral, to Precious and to Anvike, to June and to Suzie, to every single tribute in that arena, I was just too late to save them. Just too late. Zen creeps forward another step, as if feeling out the ground for traps, yet his eyes never even once, for a flicker, leave the sight of Angel's dead body to properly check for them, as if it was just a wild fantasy, hoping, dreaming, that this whole situation is one. Finally, step by step, knowing breath, by knowing breath; he reaches her with the knowledge that he was just too late.
Dead. That word strikes both me and Zen with all my might as he topples onto his two knees next to her dead body, and I can even hear the drunken moans of her mentor, Haymitch Abernathy distantly in the background. If only I could get drunk too, if only I could wash away all I am feeling now in a swig of a bottle. All of what little memories I've had about Angel flicker before my eyes, ignoring the cannon fire ricocheting around the arena signalling that yes, Zen was just too late.
First of all, her at the reaping. The trembling face filled with bitter determination, bitter determination to win. But that could never happen. As far as I know there's only been four tributes who won at the age of twelve. Two of them I know or have heard of - May Flutter, from district eight, and Drisabella Combe from district nine. Yes, the chances of Indi or Zen winning are slim, way too slim. Never mind Angel, who never seemed to have bad though cross her mind; but that doesn't mean she deserved to die.
I think back to her chariot rides and her interview, something was chilling about her, something scared me, and it wasn't her herself. It was the barbarism that she was in the games. Indi may be twelve, but she knows how to stick up for herself, as did May Flutter and Dizzy, but Angel? Angel and that little boy from district seven? Did they even have the tiniest bit of a chance? No; because whatever happened, it was just going to be too late.
He sob that escapes Zen's lips startles me, as he pressed his face in desperation to Angel's chest, not believing the cannon fire, hoping for any sign of a beating heart, but there is none. The doctors have never made a mistake before, claimed anyone was dead when they weren't; no, she is truly gone. Yet Zen can't accept that, he won't accept that, and his face suddenly turns steely as he turns away from Angel's dead body, almost in disgust.
"Where is he?" Zen croaks, then swipes off a tears from his face, "WHERE IS HE?"
In reply Boudicca simply points down to a body as cannon fire calls through the forest again, counting up the death toll. Wolfgang Lupe... Wolfgang Lupe is dead.
His black dreadlocks frighten me, especially hand-in-hand with a silver one, streaking there. But it's only the back of his head I see, only the back of his dead body, and Zen has even less desire than me to roll it over, just to reveal his silent yet deeply menacing features. Instead we just stare, stare as his grey jacket he got from his backpack cloaks him, almost hiding him from the world.
"What- what happened?" Zen says, his stammer coming back, and not just for the benefit of the Capitol audience.
"I killed him," Boudicca says simply, frowning at the body in front of him, "I killed him."
There's a silence that echoes around the forest while Zen stares blankly at Wolfgang's dead body, trying to blank out Angel's from his mind.
"I'm assuming from that cannon fire you killed Current too," Boudicca pauses, accepting a slight nod from Zen as a yes, not prying more. "You know, Current Swan was the youngest of three brothers. They always looked down on him as petty and annoying, yet he always wanted to prove himself to them. He wasn't ready for the hunger games, he shouldn't have kid himself into thinking that, no, but he was desperate. You see, the reason he volunteered was because his elder brother got reaped, and he was the only one in the family who had been training for the games. They shunned him for it, training, volunteering; his family. They thought it was stupid, but he saved his brother's life didn't he? He saved his brother's life at the sacrifice of his own, and I respect him for that, even if all he came across as was desperate and annoying.
"Now there's Wolfgang Lupe. He had parents who dominated his life, wanted to make him into a weapon, as if he wasn't even a person. He trained every moment of his life, blocked out all emotions, ready for this. Then the moment his parents said the word the sent him, their own son, off to his death. All because they were too selfish to have put their own life on the line when it was their chance. He had no real emotions he felt, or none that he showed anyway. He was oppressed and bullied into everything, though he didn't look on it like that. In fact, I'm sure he wouldn't have even lived in his house in victor's village if he got it, his parents would have and as a reward he would have got their old house, with instructions not to die or they'd have to move back in. How horrible, how horrific, how savage a thing to do, for parents to turn their own son into a weapon to do their choosing. And we all know why they did it..."
Boudicca breaks off, not wanting to say anything else, knowing it would cause her own death to blatantly accuse the Capitol for murder on live television.
"Oh," is all Zen can say, "Can I- can I say something about Angel?"
Boudicca simply nods her head in reply.
"Well, Angel, Angel Rise, had no siblings. She had no friends, no family. No-one. She was never used to people, all they did was tell her to go away, she lived on the streets and scavenged for a living. And people shunned her too, for everything, even her mere existence. I bet some people were actually glad she got reaped, however cruel it was, because she meant nothing to any of them, nothing. Yet she was, I mean, she is the most decent person I think I've ever met. She's never lied, she's tried her best not to cry and to stand up and be brave. At times she could be annoying, wanting to know the meaning to absolutely everything you do, even if it's best if she didn't know, but she was a good person, she was the perfect person, but as you know... perfect doesn't live in the hunger games."
Zen's face has become stonily pale, and still, and instead of the pure sorrow he showed earlier now the one emotion that fills his face is hatred, pure and honest hatred, "and you killed her," he spits out. Yet the person he's saying it to isn't Wolfgang, he's looking up, up into the sky. And I know what that means more than anyone. He's addressing the Capitol.