Nothing Personal

Bird's Eye View - 8

Flap flap.

Flap flap flap.

There! Now he was free!

The jabberjay took off into the sky. It was dark but that didn't matter because he could see in the dark just as well as in the day; he only knew it was dark because everything was slightly grey. There were wind currents in the air to sail on and though he couldn't fly too high without pain, it was still good to be free. The bird-part of him wanted to sing with joy, but every time he opened his mouth a bunch of sounds came out that didn't sound much like singing at all, at least, not how the other birds did it.

"I'm a fool!" he exclaimed, over and over again.

It was the sort of sounds the no-wings made, gruff and complicated and meaningless. But he couldn't make the beautiful soaring noises the other birds made. He'd tried many times, but it only ever scared the others. 

"I'm a fool!"

It didn't sound right. It sounded like how he'd felt tied to the tree, not how he felt dancing through the sky. The no-wings must be jealous that they couldn't do this. There was one of them now, perched on the top of the old stone building; they'd been there before. They had shining things in front of their eyes. Their voice had been quite high, almost like music, but not quite. It hadn't scraped at his throat like the other sounds, though it had hurt. He was still a bird, or at least he felt like a bird, and birds were meant to sing. He'd liked their voice. But they hadn't liked him.

Well, he was used to not being liked. At least she hadn't tied him to a tree while he was resting.

He caught an air current that dipped between two red-brick buildings and rode it right to the ground, sweeping up at the last possible minute. He'd opened his mouth before he'd remembered that he couldn't sing.

"I'm a fool!"

A loud, shouty noise blared out of the sky. He'd been expecting it. It had done it every night that he'd been here. There was always stuff put up in the sky too, so he perched on a smooth roof to watch. The first night he'd tried to fly up to it but it was above the pain ring and he'd had to rest for a day.

First, as the noise was playing, there was the picture of the round thing, like a flat berry, with a big curved shape under it; C. There was something on the flat thing that looked like someone had chopped up a dead bird. He regarded it dispassionately. Birds have no real concept of death; one day they are here, the next they aren't. But he prefered the pictures. The pictures looked real.

Here was the first one, a no-wing (they were always no-wings), female, with sharp eyes and lots of reddish hair. A fine plumage, especially for a no-wing.

The second was male, glowering down on them. He fluttered his wings aggresively; it looked like the male wanted to hurt him. "I'm a fool!" he cooed up at him, in case it meant anything to the no-wing. It worked because the male faded away.

Another one came up. This one was familiar. This one had been in the tree, this was the one whose voice he had stolen. He had shining eyes and hair like brown feathers. Jabberjays have a basic reading of human expression and this one looked annoyed. "I'm a fool!" he croaked back at him. But the no-wings in the sky never moved, they just faded away.

Then there was one that looked like a chick, younger than the others. He knew that the expression was fear, big wide eyes and almost colourless. He looked at it silently. He'd never seen a no-wings with red eyes and red hair like on his wings.

The noise played out again. He took off, the wind streaming over his wings. He wanted this voice out of his throat; it hurt. There had to be another voice somewhere. The female no-wings on the building. Her voice didn't hurt as much. 

He swerved towards the building.

Skyler, laid on her back and staring at the sky, felt heavy, like something had been taken out of her and replaced with lead. Oak was dead. He had lived, and now he didn't, and he was never going to live again. He'd just...gone. Oak the revolutionary, the one who hated the Capitol more than she would have believed possible. Had they finally got to him? Did it matter now? He was dead. His family, the whole district, would be devastated.

And Daisuke. Who had killed him? Because someone had to have delivered the final blow; she refused to believe that the Capitol would kill off someone so young. They'd get someone else to do it for them. Please let it not have been painful. Not for the poor little kid. And not for the person who had killed him either.

Raylum. She'd thought it was Court, the cannon. How had that happened? Was Court okay? She knew she shouldn't be dwelling on these things, but it was like opening your eyes and trying not to see. Impossible.

Raylum had been forced into volunteering. She hoped his parents were happy. No, she didn't blame the parents. She blamed the Capitol. Them and their stupid idea of entertainment. For a moment, she caught a flash of how Oak must have felt most of the time. Like you could just tear the place down with your bare hands and laugh while it burnt.

But that was Capitol thinking. That was what they did.

She could imagine Oak telling her that she had to win now. For District Eleven, for the hatred of the Capitol. Never for herself. Oak had never once wanted to do anything for himself. There was always something else, something bigger, to work for. The individual doesn't matter. She'd known that since the day she was born. If somebody dies in the orchards, it doesn't matter as long as the day's work is done so they don't all get punished. It is a duty and an honour to serve the Capitol.

Oak had wanted nothing for himself. She wondered what he would make of her wanting to win just to stay alive. For herself.

"I'm a fool," Oak sighed.

She jumped to her feet. It had sounded like he was right by her shoulder, but he wasn't because she had seen him in the sky, and they'd have taken the body for...something...so...

The jabberjay gazed up at her.

"I'm a fool," it whispered.

She knew, with some kind of instinct, that those had been his last words. He was dead, but she was hearing his voice. Like he was living on, somehow. 

A tear streaked down her cheek. The jabberjay had seen what had happened to him, seen his final moments. It knew. And those words. 'I'm a fool', but he hadn't been a fool, not at all. He'd been passionate, a believer, dramatic and unthinking, but never a fool. He didn't deserve to have died thinking that he was.

"You're not a fool, Oak," she whispered to the sky.

"You're not a fool, Oak," the jabberjay repeated. It didn't understand the words but it liked the tone. Soft and gentle and sad, like the last flight before knowing you have to roost. Skyler put a hand over her mouth, regretting it instantly. His voice had gone. Now there was just memories.

She had left because she didn't want to see him die. But now she wished she'd been there to comfort him, to tell him that he wasn't a fool, that he was one of the bravest people she knew because he'd dared to stand up to the Capitol.

She wanted to make some kind of memorial, to leave a mark somewhere, but she didn't know what to do. Whatever she tried wouldn't be right.

Skyler curled up by the spire, her stomach heavy, and waited for the morning and yet another day of survival and death.