Post by fierceclaw on Sept 17, 2007 17:41:30 GMT -5
Thick Obscurity. . .
The early morning mist was hovering above the moorlands, faithful to it's title as the Misty Moor. Morning birds chirped occasionally to the sound of the trickling sounds of the creek, crickets and frogs dragging out their parts to this night time orchestra, hidden in the tall drooping grass and weeds that bordered the creek.
Through the fog, a figure moved silently through the grass, nothing more than a dark silhouette with a distorted frame in the thick moisture that lingered in the air. The scents of chlorophyll, dampness, and prey thick in the mist.
That shadow of a cat moved agiley, yet effortlessly through the grassy clumps that was at times taller than he was. Two eyes, bluer than the tropic shallows of a coral reef, colder than the icy glaciers of the north, were alertly fixed forward. Their tropical blue color strangely broken by a patch of green in his left eye. Though it wasn't so strange in his heritage.
As I said before, thick obscurity. How ironic fate could be. This cat, no more than 14 moons, appearingly younger considering his size, had gone through more than most cats did in a lifetime. The trainning that killed his siblings, the ruthlessness that had become his birth-place's permanent substitude for mercy. The horrors of his past. . . what he had accepted as who he was. . . now haunted his inmost being. . .they called him prince. . .
The young tom flicked his wet ears as he pushed his way through the undergrowth to the muddy bank of the creek, crouching and lapping up the cold water. It hit his stomach like a kick in the gut, making him cringe slightly, but he was soo thirsty, not remembering the last time he'd actually stopped to take a drink of something that wasn't tainted.
He suddenly dunked his head all the way in the cold, clear water, his nose touching the smooth pebbles at the bottom. The thought crossed his mind to leave his head down there, not to pull it back up again. That would end it all. . . end all the torment. . .
"No!" He snarled underwater before his head came up and his butt came down, giving his head one good shake and sending a spray of water in all directions. His thick, abyssal black fur took on a spiky appearance on his head, his ears coc.ked and his eyes shut tightly as he panted. What the heck was the matter with him?! Never had a suicidal thought entered his mind, even when they were ripping him appart, even after the beatings, even after his sister's death. There had never been any thoughts of giving up to that extent, there had only been anger, a lust for vengence so strong it had consumed him and had kept him alive. It had also turned him into the monster he had been, but that was who he was. That was who he HAD to be.
Was he loosing it?
Too long Fierceclaw had been on his own. Despite the handsom tom's arrogant attitude, and the strong belief that he could take care of himself, that he didn't need anyone. Fierceclaw DIDN'T need anyone. . . did he? Every cat he had ever known, every cat he'd grown up around, were heartless murderers brainwashed into the moral "kill or be killed, hunt or starve" there was no loyalty part from fear. There were hardly no friendships because of paranoya of betrayal. Fierceclaw had learned with the best of them how to be heartless. He had been with the best. . . he'd beaten the best. But where did it get him? A few short moons as the "Almighty Prince of Peakclan" and then what? It simply kept him alive and ahead of everyone else it seemed. Everyone he'd met anyway. Why was this emptiness suddenly consuming the darkness in his heart like a black hole? Eliminating his precious will. . .his will to live. . . where was the ambition that had sustained his being?
Then faithfully, hatred replaced those emotions and Fierceclaw's eyes darkened as he stepped into the creek's flow, trudging through to the other side and ignoring the cold that gripped his skin like needles. He was alone now, just like he always had been. Loneliness would cave in on itself soon. . . soon it would all just. . . go away.
The early morning mist was hovering above the moorlands, faithful to it's title as the Misty Moor. Morning birds chirped occasionally to the sound of the trickling sounds of the creek, crickets and frogs dragging out their parts to this night time orchestra, hidden in the tall drooping grass and weeds that bordered the creek.
Through the fog, a figure moved silently through the grass, nothing more than a dark silhouette with a distorted frame in the thick moisture that lingered in the air. The scents of chlorophyll, dampness, and prey thick in the mist.
That shadow of a cat moved agiley, yet effortlessly through the grassy clumps that was at times taller than he was. Two eyes, bluer than the tropic shallows of a coral reef, colder than the icy glaciers of the north, were alertly fixed forward. Their tropical blue color strangely broken by a patch of green in his left eye. Though it wasn't so strange in his heritage.
As I said before, thick obscurity. How ironic fate could be. This cat, no more than 14 moons, appearingly younger considering his size, had gone through more than most cats did in a lifetime. The trainning that killed his siblings, the ruthlessness that had become his birth-place's permanent substitude for mercy. The horrors of his past. . . what he had accepted as who he was. . . now haunted his inmost being. . .they called him prince. . .
The young tom flicked his wet ears as he pushed his way through the undergrowth to the muddy bank of the creek, crouching and lapping up the cold water. It hit his stomach like a kick in the gut, making him cringe slightly, but he was soo thirsty, not remembering the last time he'd actually stopped to take a drink of something that wasn't tainted.
He suddenly dunked his head all the way in the cold, clear water, his nose touching the smooth pebbles at the bottom. The thought crossed his mind to leave his head down there, not to pull it back up again. That would end it all. . . end all the torment. . .
"No!" He snarled underwater before his head came up and his butt came down, giving his head one good shake and sending a spray of water in all directions. His thick, abyssal black fur took on a spiky appearance on his head, his ears coc.ked and his eyes shut tightly as he panted. What the heck was the matter with him?! Never had a suicidal thought entered his mind, even when they were ripping him appart, even after the beatings, even after his sister's death. There had never been any thoughts of giving up to that extent, there had only been anger, a lust for vengence so strong it had consumed him and had kept him alive. It had also turned him into the monster he had been, but that was who he was. That was who he HAD to be.
Was he loosing it?
Too long Fierceclaw had been on his own. Despite the handsom tom's arrogant attitude, and the strong belief that he could take care of himself, that he didn't need anyone. Fierceclaw DIDN'T need anyone. . . did he? Every cat he had ever known, every cat he'd grown up around, were heartless murderers brainwashed into the moral "kill or be killed, hunt or starve" there was no loyalty part from fear. There were hardly no friendships because of paranoya of betrayal. Fierceclaw had learned with the best of them how to be heartless. He had been with the best. . . he'd beaten the best. But where did it get him? A few short moons as the "Almighty Prince of Peakclan" and then what? It simply kept him alive and ahead of everyone else it seemed. Everyone he'd met anyway. Why was this emptiness suddenly consuming the darkness in his heart like a black hole? Eliminating his precious will. . .his will to live. . . where was the ambition that had sustained his being?
Then faithfully, hatred replaced those emotions and Fierceclaw's eyes darkened as he stepped into the creek's flow, trudging through to the other side and ignoring the cold that gripped his skin like needles. He was alone now, just like he always had been. Loneliness would cave in on itself soon. . . soon it would all just. . . go away.
)