AN: My first attempt in writing in English, didn't post it earlier because it wasn't finished. (I started it on the back of an English exam paper... ahem.) Sorry if there are language/grammar/spelling mistakes. You can tell me in your review^^


Me: *whistles*

Elphaba: Come on, now...

Me: what?

Glinda: You know „what". Honestly.

Me: Don't you „honestly" me. You'd do the same.

Glinda and Elphaba: *glare*

Me: Oh, whatever. It's not mine, nothing is but the scene and not even this completely because it was there from begin with and Holy Maguire didn't describe it. It's just his. There. I hope you're happy now.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_


It took her a while until she was able to move again. She realized that she was trembling; her hands gripping the stone behind her so fiercely that the skin over her knuckels appeared more white than green. Slowly, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself down and then carefully loosened her harsh grip.

She knew she probably looked like a madwoman – her face was pale, hands now hanging limp at the sides, still shaking, her eyes staring unblinkingly into nothingness although her gaze could burn a hole into whomever she might look at. She felt her heart beating in her chest, violently, as if it wanted to jump out and punish her for her lack of courage.

Hadn't she spoken with Fiyero about exactly this? About so-called innocent bystanders and how sometimes there had to be sacrifices? She could have done it, she could have ignored those children, those children standing in her way to Morrible, laughing and dancing and ignorant to the danger surrounding them just by being near to this woman. These children... Young girls, just like she and Galinda had been themselves once. Not the society dame she had talked about as a portrait, but was there a difference? Sacrifices had to be made. She never had thought about such things twice, never during those five dark years. But now -

She hadn't been able to do it, and she knew exactly why. She hated him for it, for ruining her mission, for making her so weak, for causing her to fail, but at the same time it made her love him even more.

She started moving, trying but failing to block out her frantic thoughts, swirling around in her head and causing her vision to spin so she occasionally had to take hold onto the buildings' walls in order to steady herself.

She had failed. She had failed. She had failed the most important task that had been given to her by the Resistance since she'd decided to stay in the city and fight the Wizard's regime. She had to suppress the urge to scream in anger and eventually realized that she hadn't even gone home as she thought she was doing. Instead she found herself in a lonely park she didn't even know. Her hat deep in her face, she took in her surroundings.

The place was abandoned, obviously already some time ago; wild nature had taken over and the plants grew without man's influence limiting their development. The green woman's legs suddenly weakened and without thinking twice she collapsed on the cool earth, curling unconsciously up into herself. Silence lay around her, if there were birds or other animals then they didn't show any signs proving their presence. Elphaba stared without seeing, gazed into nothingness and willed her mind to stop whirling, even at the price of absolute numbness.

She didn't know if whether she had sat there for hours, minutes, or mere seconds, she seemed to suddenly have lost all sense of time. But her conscious thinking eventually returned, not less painful than it had been before, but at least more controlled. She was able to think straight again, to put her thoughts together in a logical order and to see past her latest failure, the most painful of them all.

Yes, she had failed. She had screwed up her mission completely and she knew it, but now her mind had regained its ability to see the rational side of events, and it all but screamed at Elphaba to pull herself together and get back where she should be. Her mistakes wouldn't mean the end of Oz, so what?

But although she knew this, she couldn't stop the pain within her. Maybe it would mean the end of Oz – the end of the Oz she knew. It took her a few minutes, but finally she managed to push the pain and the guilt threatening to suffocate her in the back of her mind, the very bottom of her heart, and concentrate on getting up without breaking down completely.

She just hadn't expected the white cat trying to run past her and escaping some unknown danger.

„Malky?" Her voice was hoarse and if one didn't know her, they'd think she must be crying. The cat slowed down and half turned, his thin tail twitching nervously.

Elphaba swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and slowly approached the frightened animal, squinting her eyes to get a better look at him. Malky started and recoiled, but when she bent down after a moment, he relaxed a little and allowed the green woman to carefully pat his back and examine his strangely filthy fur.

Elphaba begged Lurline, Kumbricia, even the Unnamed God for having misunderstood what she had seen, that there indeed was no red stain on the soft white coat, but in case any higher force noticed her silent, desperate prayer, it went ignored.

The panic choking in the back of her throat became nearly too much to bear as she shrank back from the cat, trying to find another explanation although knowing there was none.

„Malky", she whispered, „Malky, what happened? What happened? Malky? Malky? Please..." Malky meowed, the only answer to her frantic rambling. Elphaba tried to grab him but he flinched and leaped away from her into the darkness – perhaps he had sensed that Elphaba hardly knew what she was doing anymore, maybe he feared for his life. Elphaba didn't know, and she didn't care, she had already fogotten him. All her confused thoughts had been replaced by one single plea: She had to get back, to make sure he was safe. She wouldn't stand another failure tonight.

She didn't know how much time had passed, she didn't even know how she'd found her way back. In fact, she didn't know anything anymore. She acted solely on instinct as she finally reached the place she'd come to call a home. It wasn't home anymore, though. She hadn't called any place home until he came and changed the feeling of coming back to a place for sleep into coming back home. She opened the door, her fingers trembling; she cursed herself for the further weakness she showed. She couldn't allow anything like this. Weakness had caused all of her life to become a mess.

She couldn't hear her steps as she mounted the dirty stairs, she couldn't hear anything over her own breath. Her heart was beating, frantically, in panic, but she couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. She opened the door without a key, she never left without locking, why didn't she need a key? Why was the door open?

Inside, quick now, but why? What did she even want here? She could hardly remember, but then she saw. The room was painted, maybe Fiyero had come back to make their home a little more cozy, their home, but why was the paint on the floor, why – was it – ?

It didn't smell like paint, not at all. But it had to be paint, just color, nothing else, but this smell – Elphaba knew what it was, but how could it be, how could they dare, it wasn't true, it wasn't, it couldn't be, but then it was –

She felt bile rising in her throat, and the next thing she remembered was kneeling on the hard, cold floor, doubled over, and vomiting until she was empty, until she had expelled her very soul or what had been left of it. She stared at the mess of blood on her floor, half dried, her lover sprayed in the middle, painted red. Blue diamonds, brown skin, a green field, covered in red, dark liquid that gives and takes life and surely had taken Elphaba's life now. She touched his face and screamed, wordlessly, soundlessly, no one could hear her, but she hoped he did. Hopefully he knew what he had done. He should have listened. It was too late now. The red paint seemed to be everywhere, on the floor, the walls, on him, on her. Her hair, her wrists, her face, all was red.

She would never have liked the idea of painting the room in red.

_/\_ _/\_ _/\_

AN: Not my best, I know. For every review there will be an Elphaba who lives. Happily, if I get my will.