Username: Oceanfosh
Cat Name: Buzzardcloud
Clan: Cats of the Whispering WoodRank: Warrior
Gender: Male
Age: 34 moons (11 1/3 seasons)
Prompt:xxxxxThe sun’s light faded as black and flecks of white dotting the sky took over, the clouds dulling from their flaming orange and purple to blend in with the very night itself. Buzzardcloud stared at a corner, ensuring that not even a speck of the sky was visible in the corner of his eye. He was terrified of the sky, the empty, open space that revealed that he was just another cat. Just another being, making no visible impact on the wide, large space that surrounded it. He was nothing compared to the sky’s colors, nothing compared to its existence itself. He didn’t only hate the sky; he hated being alone. The thought of being a single, tiny creature in a large, empty world terrified him just as much as the empty void above his head.
xxxxxThe only escape from the very things that dragged him down was during the night. It was only safe to him because that endless void may be painted black, but the flecks of light that made up the stars of the sky were enough to make him feel large, and they were not too bright as to constantly bring his gaze up to what made him small. The hard part about being afraid of the sky was not only how hard it would be to survive (alone, which should be mentioned) in the forest, but the thoughts of what the other felines that provide company to him that should run through their heads. He was scared, scared that they would turn their backs and leave him with no cat or creature by his side as he stood in the dark, ominous forest, alone.
xxxxxWhat got through his silent thoughts and actually to his head were not the words of the cats he stayed by, but the one thing that tried to tear out his mind itself. A simple rule in the clan, something that was spoken through not only words but the expectations and thoughts of the other cats, was able to break through the barrier he had tried to use to shield himself from others while still standing beside them. That rule, as much as he hated to repeat it in his fragile head, stated one simple thing: He must hunt at some point during the day, every day. Even the thought of that simple sentence was terrifying, enough to cause him to shiver and his tail to flatten against his side.
xxxxxHis paws, nearing the same color as the void that loomed above his head, carried his body outside of the camp, the twoleg den that hid him from the bright blues and whites of the daytime’s sky. With a deep breath he hunted, the cold night air chilling his spine as his gaze tilted down. The unlucky victim to his teeth was a small mouse, its death coming quicker than the tiny screech that now lay, forever, inside its throat. This is what he was also scared of. Not only did the sky and the idea of being alone unsettle him, but the idea that something larger would come and step on him, crushing the disappointing creature at its foot like a twoleg may step on an ant, not thinking twice if at all about it. Before he knew it, he was back inside, dropping the dead creature on the pile of other, unlucky victims to cat claws and crouching on the carpet trying to stop shaking.
xxxxxMaybe he wasn’t scared of only the sky, death, and being alone, but maybe he was simply afraid of nature, the world itself. The idea of living, but also the idea of dying, or even the idea of existing. If that were the case, then maybe he was afraid of the cats he wished so badly that he could trust. He could never trust anyone else, of course, unless the thoughts of each and every feline were placed clearly in front of him, so that he could understand them and truly know them completely. That is why he didn’t speak, and why he keeps all his hatred and fear of the world to himself. He doesn’t know anyone; they are all true, complete strangers.
700 words
