Act 5, Scene 3: The 5:41 Ode to Victory

*mute*

Face covered. Heart hoping. The rain had brought one of the warriors down unceremoniously. Will it do it again?

Anger. Stupidity in pausing. Curses.

An old warrior steps up. Face not betraying the fear he must be feeling inside. Why does the rain seem to come down harder?

*mute*

Face covered again. Eyes closed. 'Let it pass,' I think, 'It hasn't been taken yet.'

*unmute*

"It is Red in Moscow!"

Eyes wide open. The vanquisher rejoices; both arms thrust wide open. The vanquished can only look down in disbelief. As his eyes travel upwards, it does not seem capable of fixating on anything. His whole world has crumbled.

The best thing a neutral could ask for has happened. The world heaves a sigh of relief that once again it is proven that money cannot, no, WILL not buy glory.

On that rain trodden field, far away where the rain must be falling like needles of ice, only emptiness must be felt inside them. 'Maybe next year,' they must be thinking.

But for the victors, the vanquishers, the heroes. Once again they have proven themselves. Even when everyone questioned the chosen ones. Yet it came down to experience.

Congratulations.