.:Why Even Try?:. [Zuka vs. Katie]

[ooc: It's okay Phunke! D: Don't be sorry, you couldn't of even helped it. Good luck with Katie in the finale, I'll be rooting for her :3]

.:.:.:.:.:.
Your stitches are all out
But your scars are healing wrong
And the helium room inside your room has come undone
And it's pushing up at the ceiling
And the flickering lights it cannot get beyond
.:.:.:.:.:.

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Everything was becoming immensely difficult for her to do as the fight progressed. Lifting her sword that then felt like a thousand pounds, walking... breathing. Her sight was beginning to blur, making everything around her swirl in a wide variety of mixed colors. She would find herself stopping in mid-swing to watch the colors dance around her, in awe of the beauty that came in such an unlikely time. It did not occur until several moments later that she was dying. Each drop of blood that drained from her was like a ticking clock, each drop that fell being the seconds that ticked away her remaining time in the arena.

Her gaze traveled to her opponent's eyes, her own now filled with hopelessness and defeat. She searched for some look in Katie's eyes, some look that would tell Zuka that this was not happening. The weapon that was slashing toward her would not end her life, it couldn't. But there was still a slim form of reality left in the girl's mind, some thought that told her it was her time to go. Time to go and join the many others that had left before her, to join the lives that she had ended herself.

.:.:.:.:.:.
Oh everyone takes turns
Now it's yours to play the part
And they're sitting all around you
Holding copies of your chart
And the misery in their eyes
Is synchronized and reflected into yours
.:.:.:.:.:.

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The moment Katie's weapon met her chest, she knew it was over, as much as she had thought otherwise. It was a simple cut, but it was enough to send her falling down to her knees with a strangled cry. The blood fell from the new cut, staining the front of her shirt even more. Zuka no longer even had the strength to wipe it away, or to get up and continue fighting. No longer was there a burning determination inside of her, for it had been stripped away the moment her knees touched the blood-soaked ground and her sword fell with a loud clatter onto the ground.

Zuka had thought that there was no point in trying to win. There was nothing waiting back at District Eleven for her, besides her drunk guardians. Nothing to fight for, nothing to live for. So why had she been trying so hard? Why had she put every inch of strength into every attack, even though she knew the end was coming? It could have been her desire to appear strong in the face of millions, or it could be her desire to get back out and do everything that she had missed out on. Sure, maybe there was no one waiting at home for her, no one watching the TV and chanting for her to survive, but that didn't mean she couldn't try again. Try to do things with feeling, with love, with care.

Zuka had went her whole life without knowing the true meaning of love or friendship. There was never a friend that she could go to each day, and talk to when she was being abused by her mother, or being ignored by her drunk aunt and uncle. There was no boy whom she had love, who she could go to and seek love that the ones responsible for her never gave. The district token that she was wearing wasn't even hers, for she had simply found it in the Justice Building on her way out, after several heart-dropping moments of no one coming to talk to her. She had left the District the same way she was leaving now: Alone.

.:.:.:.:.:.
Hold on
One more time with feeling
Try it again
Breathing's just a rhythm
Say it in your mind
Until you know that the words are right
This is, why we, fight
.:.:.:.:.:.

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More thoughts spilled into Zuka's tortured mind like an endless stream of water. What were her guardians thinking of her right now? In her mind, she pictured them sitting on the broken couch with alcohol in their hands, cheering as they saw her fall to her knees. Cheering that they wouldn't have to see her face as she emerged as a Victor. "Are you even watching?" she asked, the words slipping from her dry lips. The question was directed to her aunt and uncle, and she knew they would know it was directed to them, even though she was staring at a space in the distance that was unseen by others. If they were watching, they would see the hurt and pain inside of her as they watched the trail of tears fall from her closing eyes. The pain was now too much to handle, not physical, but mental. The physical pain was beginning to numb as she drifted farther away from reality. It now hurt to think about how she never had an adult figure there to help her. No one.

Zuka had had some forms of care in her life, though they were short and ended the wrong way. Her stylist Diam, who had hugged her before she ascended in the glass tube, his whisper in her ear to return to him. Nadene, the girl that she had developed so many confusing emotions for. It was weird how she had experienced love, in a way that was not acceptable to some. She had found more than friendship in the girl, despite how she hadn't even showed it.

Along with the pit of loneliness and despair that was consuming her one second at a time, guilt came along. The emotion that she rarely ever felt, the only time being when she realized that she hadn't said thank you to Nadene. It came with a memory, one that had always sat at the edge of her mind, silently slipping into her nightmares like a quiet whisper.

The thirteen year-old girl silently stepped out of her room, her thin nightgown blowing slightly around her feet from the breeze that came from the hole in the wall. The floorboard creaked under each step, but she knew that no one would hear. There was a crazed look in her deep brown gaze, but even deeper stood a look of anxiety and nervousness.

Her hand trailed along the wooden walls, moving over the nails that stuck out. In her other hand was a knife, the metal casting a dim light on the ground beneath her. The girl's eyes were trained on the room up ahead, where she knew her mother slept. Each step that brought her closer to the door also sent chills down her spine. It would be the night she would rid herself forever of her mother's striking hand.

"I did it! I killed her, I killed my mother. It's my fault, I did it... I did... I..." Zuka yelled, awakening from the memory that came sharp and clear despite her blurry vision. Her voice came out strangled and desperate, urgent to let out what she had held in for several years. Even speaking was becoming extremely difficult, for she couldn't even finish what she was trying to say. Could not finish something that she should have said the day she committed the murder of her mother. The guilt of what she had done had unknowingly been eating her up the entire time, causing much unneeded insanity in her hectic life.

.:.:.:.:.:.
You thought by now you'd be
So much better than you are
You thought by now they'd see
That you had come so far
And the pride inside their eyes
Would synchronize into a love you've never known
So much more than you've been shown
.:.:.:.:.:.

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Zuka was now laying on the ground, for she had unknowingly fallen from the position of kneeling. The side of her face was completely submerged in a small pool of her blood, the smell of the sticky liquid filling her nostrils and causing her to gag. How hard it was to reposition herself, for she found herself not even being able to move a finger. She imagined herself feeling her organs shutting down as she stared at the scarlet liquid, seeing her own reflection shining inside of it. Behind the blurry reflection of her own painful face, someone lurked behind it. Someone whom she had never seen before, but at the same time looked like a long-lost friend. She was looking death in the face.

Whether it was real or not, she began to feel the hand of someone helping her up. The hand sent chills through her, but it also comforted her. She was being lifted, helped, comforted, everything that she had never experienced in life. Everything began to disappear around her, including the cloaked face of the one that had helped her. It all faded away, replaced with a shimmering light that formed into what seemed like a tunnel. Once again she knew she was alone, but it was alright this time. This was a trip that was needed to be taken alone.

Each step down the blinding tunnel brought a wave of images and memories over her. The farther she moved, the brighter the tunnel became in front, and the darker it became behind her.

Zuka was two, sitting on the light Gray couch that sat in the middle of the small living room. Her hair was long, falling down to the middle of her back, with no blonde streak to the left. Sitting on the ground before her was a man: her father. The peacekeeper whom had had a one night stand with her mother. An impatient and stressed expression was on his face as his skeptical gaze slid across Zuka's face.

"I won't waste my time taking care of this child, do it yourself" he spat, his attention turning to the lady that stood toward the far side. Without a reply, he stormed out of the room and out of the kitchen door.

Zuka stood, crouching behind the kitchen table. Her breathing was as quiet as she attempted to make it as her brown eyes darted around the chair legs. The table and chairs blocked her field of vision, but the approaching footsteps told her what was coming. She closed her eyes tightly, letting out a loud gasp as she felt the stinging slap of her mother's hand across her face. Already the red marks of her fingers were forming under her right eye, but she wouldn't allow herself to show the pain. Weakness was not an option.

It was the day after she had killed her mother, the day she would be moving to her aunt and uncle's house. Zuka made herself appear frightened and full of despair as she watched the peacekeepers drag a man out of the house next door to her. "I didn't do it! I didn't do it, that insane daughter of hers probably did it!" he screeched, his eyes desperately finding Zuka.

She smirked as she caught his eye, doing a small little wave with her hand and mouthing the words 'Good Luck'.

Zuka walked down the hall of her new house, the floors and walls in worse shape than her previous one. Empty bottles littered the floor, along with shattered glass. Anger flashed in her gaze as she stepped into the kitchen, her eyes falling on her uncle plopped over on the kitchen table.

Without thinking, she stormed over to him and picked up the bottle that was held in his limp grasp. She lifted it up then brought it down crashing on top of his head, watching as the glass cut into his head. "Hangovers are a pain in the ass, huh?" she sneered, turning around and walking away from his cries of pain.

The tunnel was coming to an end, the whole thing turning into a blinding flash of light that sent her hair flying around her. Tears were falling down her cheeks from the memories, and the thought of the unknown that she was about to face. Never had she felt so afraid, but so sure. She was sure that it was her time to go, time to let go of all the things she had missed out on. It was time for her to leave the world and walk into the unknown, to face whatever adventure came next. Zuka had learned her past mistakes, and she knew she would do better as she faced whatever came next.

Zuka finally closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling a few times before it went completely still, never to receive another breath. She had slipped into the unknown clutches of death.

.:.:.:.:.:.
Hold on
One more time with feeling
Try it again
Breathing's just a rhythm
Say it in your mind
Until you know that the words are right
This is, why we, fight
This is, why, we fight
.:.:.:.:.:.

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