Post by Redfleck on Aug 23, 2016 20:30:30 GMT -5
Leader of Ghostclan - a poem
The air froze in my throat, lining it with frost and snow.
I shivered. Snowflakes embedded themselves into my pelt; the perfect place for snowflakes to sleep in was my heavy fur, heavy because of the snowflakes inside. Wet and cold, I struggled through the storm..
Exactly where was I headed?
I caught sight of the abandoned nursery. Something completely destroyed one of its walls, caving it in. I ran to check inside. Nothing.
Except for the skeleton of some large bird. Half of it was gone, and half of it remained. Specifically, its head and neck were missing.
Kits back then must've been vicious, I thought. Biting off heads. How cruel. And then I remembered a headless squirrel I ate when I was a kit. Where did its head go?
My eyes stared up at the sky. White, white, white, a chaotic, crazy, screaming sort of white. The blizzard abused the skinny trees, ripping off their limbs and killing their little squirrel and mouse comrades. Perhaps it was the wind of leaf-bare that stole their heads. Did Starclan know? I struggled a little further and tripped over a rock hidden in the snow.
But it wasn't a rock. It was a frozen rabbit. Rock solid. There was its head. There were its eyes, colorless and empty and dead.
I'm sorry.
I struggled further. The wind and the snow and the clouds told me to run away. But I struggled further.
I saw the old warriors den, the apprentices den, the elders den. Overhangs of stone. Once upon a time, this place was abloom with green grass and bushes and wildflowers.
If I cried, my eyes would freeze over and I would go blind. If I spoke, my saliva would become frost and I would be mute. If I listened for the voices to guide me, the silence would turn to ice and my head would lose balance between dream and reality.
My legs. My paws. They were cold, they were cold. They burned and turned to ashes. I thought I would collapse, but instead I stayed. Struggling further.
A clearing where the medicine cats used to gather herbs. Once upon a time, kits gathered and played with butterflies here. Warriors taught battle training around the edges and apprentices trudged through the center on their quest for soft moss.
Now the clearing was sad. The flowers cried tears of blight. The butterflies' wings turned to ice and shattered.
I was alone.
Where was Starclan? Where was I?
I wandered the ghost Clan again. Once upon a time, cats filled this place. Colorful pelts flowed in and out of the camp entrance when the deputy called for border patrol.
I stopped when I reached the Highstone. Not even the ghost of my leader remained here, so I bowed my head and claimed that position.
Here I was, leader of nobody.
Here I was, crying to the wind.
Here I am, abandoned by all.
The air froze in my throat, lining it with frost and snow.
I shivered. Snowflakes embedded themselves into my pelt; the perfect place for snowflakes to sleep in was my heavy fur, heavy because of the snowflakes inside. Wet and cold, I struggled through the storm..
Exactly where was I headed?
I caught sight of the abandoned nursery. Something completely destroyed one of its walls, caving it in. I ran to check inside. Nothing.
Except for the skeleton of some large bird. Half of it was gone, and half of it remained. Specifically, its head and neck were missing.
Kits back then must've been vicious, I thought. Biting off heads. How cruel. And then I remembered a headless squirrel I ate when I was a kit. Where did its head go?
My eyes stared up at the sky. White, white, white, a chaotic, crazy, screaming sort of white. The blizzard abused the skinny trees, ripping off their limbs and killing their little squirrel and mouse comrades. Perhaps it was the wind of leaf-bare that stole their heads. Did Starclan know? I struggled a little further and tripped over a rock hidden in the snow.
But it wasn't a rock. It was a frozen rabbit. Rock solid. There was its head. There were its eyes, colorless and empty and dead.
I'm sorry.
I struggled further. The wind and the snow and the clouds told me to run away. But I struggled further.
I saw the old warriors den, the apprentices den, the elders den. Overhangs of stone. Once upon a time, this place was abloom with green grass and bushes and wildflowers.
If I cried, my eyes would freeze over and I would go blind. If I spoke, my saliva would become frost and I would be mute. If I listened for the voices to guide me, the silence would turn to ice and my head would lose balance between dream and reality.
My legs. My paws. They were cold, they were cold. They burned and turned to ashes. I thought I would collapse, but instead I stayed. Struggling further.
A clearing where the medicine cats used to gather herbs. Once upon a time, kits gathered and played with butterflies here. Warriors taught battle training around the edges and apprentices trudged through the center on their quest for soft moss.
Now the clearing was sad. The flowers cried tears of blight. The butterflies' wings turned to ice and shattered.
I was alone.
Where was Starclan? Where was I?
I wandered the ghost Clan again. Once upon a time, cats filled this place. Colorful pelts flowed in and out of the camp entrance when the deputy called for border patrol.
I stopped when I reached the Highstone. Not even the ghost of my leader remained here, so I bowed my head and claimed that position.
Here I was, leader of nobody.
Here I was, crying to the wind.
Here I am, abandoned by all.
