Post by echo on May 25, 2009 12:16:34 GMT -6
Coal
A dark shape moved slowly but steadily through the tall ferns and budding flowers, black fur camouflaging in the lengthening shadows of the forest. Red eyes glinting like gems, anxiety glimmered under the luminosity. Several moonbeams penetrated the thick canopy of leaves above head, outlining the features of stones, grass blades, bark, and the small cat in a pale, silvery glow. The ginger-yellow splotches that speckled his pelt were inconspicuous until he passed through a ray of moonlight.
The night air was still, cool and refreshing, compared to the stale air in a Twoleg nest. Coal thought back to earlier on that day, when the sun was still high in the sky, before he had made up his mind to leave. Treading slowly and cautiously, the reason for his decision was clear and prominent in his mind. He was careful to not trip over tree roots and fallen branches as he walked, reminiscing.
I left because I'm not meant to live as long as other cats. Might as well live life to the fullest. Coal said to himself, bitter. He was much smaller than a six-moon old cat was supposed to be. Slighter and lacking the usual excess energy than cats his age, he had decided to leave the comfortable life of a kitty-pet. Comfortable, boring, and predictable. With the mysterious heart condition, the prospect of a too-early death was constantly haunting the young tom.
As if to stress the problem, the tortoise cat already felt exhaustion tugging at him, and he found himself already panting for breath. I have to stop... his subconscious needled. No; I can go on a bit more, he argued, urging himself forward. Wooziness swept through him, and for a moment Coal faltered in his steps. I have to stop. I'm not like others. He had long since known that he was different, and not in a good way. But it always seemed just as painful as the last.
"Never gets old," Coal muttered, as though it was a bad joke. To him, it was a bad joke. A horrible one. He felt like he was being laughed at by some greater force whenever he was forced to give in. Stopping under a patch of moonlight, he gazed around himself, for once paying attention to his environment. His head spun, and the black cat closed his eyes, willing it to go away. Never enough energy. It's always that. Grinding his teeth, the run away kitty-pet took another paw step forward.
By now his breath came in ragged pants, and he felt wobbly. Coal recognized the feeling with a surge of bitter anger and resentment. How many times had he fainted in the six-moons he had been alive? He never bothered to count, but the question came up whenever he did. Sinking to the soft, grassy ground, the tom opened his blood red eyes again, his gaze fierce, stabbing the air with his almost palpable loathing and frustration. Thoughts swirling, Coal felt his head fall onto his paws, and the blackness of unconsciousness swept over him. What if a wild cat finds me?
A dark shape moved slowly but steadily through the tall ferns and budding flowers, black fur camouflaging in the lengthening shadows of the forest. Red eyes glinting like gems, anxiety glimmered under the luminosity. Several moonbeams penetrated the thick canopy of leaves above head, outlining the features of stones, grass blades, bark, and the small cat in a pale, silvery glow. The ginger-yellow splotches that speckled his pelt were inconspicuous until he passed through a ray of moonlight.
The night air was still, cool and refreshing, compared to the stale air in a Twoleg nest. Coal thought back to earlier on that day, when the sun was still high in the sky, before he had made up his mind to leave. Treading slowly and cautiously, the reason for his decision was clear and prominent in his mind. He was careful to not trip over tree roots and fallen branches as he walked, reminiscing.
I left because I'm not meant to live as long as other cats. Might as well live life to the fullest. Coal said to himself, bitter. He was much smaller than a six-moon old cat was supposed to be. Slighter and lacking the usual excess energy than cats his age, he had decided to leave the comfortable life of a kitty-pet. Comfortable, boring, and predictable. With the mysterious heart condition, the prospect of a too-early death was constantly haunting the young tom.
As if to stress the problem, the tortoise cat already felt exhaustion tugging at him, and he found himself already panting for breath. I have to stop... his subconscious needled. No; I can go on a bit more, he argued, urging himself forward. Wooziness swept through him, and for a moment Coal faltered in his steps. I have to stop. I'm not like others. He had long since known that he was different, and not in a good way. But it always seemed just as painful as the last.
"Never gets old," Coal muttered, as though it was a bad joke. To him, it was a bad joke. A horrible one. He felt like he was being laughed at by some greater force whenever he was forced to give in. Stopping under a patch of moonlight, he gazed around himself, for once paying attention to his environment. His head spun, and the black cat closed his eyes, willing it to go away. Never enough energy. It's always that. Grinding his teeth, the run away kitty-pet took another paw step forward.
By now his breath came in ragged pants, and he felt wobbly. Coal recognized the feeling with a surge of bitter anger and resentment. How many times had he fainted in the six-moons he had been alive? He never bothered to count, but the question came up whenever he did. Sinking to the soft, grassy ground, the tom opened his blood red eyes again, his gaze fierce, stabbing the air with his almost palpable loathing and frustration. Thoughts swirling, Coal felt his head fall onto his paws, and the blackness of unconsciousness swept over him. What if a wild cat finds me?
