Clove's POV

My life slowly draining out into the thin air, Cato has found me. Head dented, eyes open, fighting the temptation of death. He screams my name over and over again, but they sound like foggy whispers. I feel my feet go numb to any touch. My eyes wander to meet Cato's.

His eyes are sting red. And then at this sight, so are mine. He takes my hand into both of his glove-like ones. I am electrified a bit by his touch. He brings me into his bone crushing arms. He continues to scream a barrage of pleads. I only catch a few words. But the fogginess makes it sound like, "Plee stain mi fag to."

I can't stand to see him so red…So broken…So distracted. I slowly raise my left, very aware of the pain exerted from this simple movement. I see this brings Cato to a silence as I lay my hand on top of his hands tracing something. He is unaware of what I am doing, but he is trying hard to comprehend.

My hand withers at the dizziness settling over me. I continue tracing hoping, begging that he has got the message. And although I wish so much to say this out loud I cannot.

My drawing hangs heavy in the air. There is a slight pause before Cato is able to register the words I have admitted. He squeezes my hand tightly again before he drops a tear from his eyes and unto my cheek. With my last breath I feel his words trace, "I Love-"

And then my world fades black.

Review Please. I feel I should write one in Cato's POV…