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R U B B L E C R Y
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R U B B L E C R Y
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♦ 36 Moons ♦ Male ♦ Former Warrior ♦ Location: Temporary Camp ♦ Crush: Open ♦ Tags: Open ♦
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How things have changed in just a few short weeks.
After the torrenting storm, the sun shone brilliantly and the virescent color of the day under its glare was offensively bright and cheerful. It was as if they conspired to show him how the world would go on without his family. It shouldn't. Everything should have been as grey and foggy as his emotions, it should have been cold and damp with silent air. But the birds still sang and the flowers still bloomed. The mangled bodies of his clan in the aftermath was gutting. Why him? Why did he survive when he, of all cats, deserved to die the most? In that moment of loss, his world collapsed - he started to see darkness around the lights instead of the other way around. Though his mind called out for everyone, the connection was gone... they were gone... and finally, he knew that his time to be alone had come. Even the discovery of the seven other survivors didn't quench the burning flame of fury and sorrow that ignited in his heart.
Sorrow. It sits like leaf-fall rain on his fur, enough to chill what was once warm inside. It feels like an ocean falling upon him instead of rain - that the grief of years he had carefully suspended has all condensed right above his head into a cloud large enough to block the sun. They say it can't rain forever, that there will come a time when it must cease, that the last drop will have fallen. Thing is, Rubblecry can't seem to care. It was too much. All of it. Yet somehow, he kept moving. But the darkness grew darker; the pain grew sharper; all of it seemed to only grow in strength and he began to wonder if things could ever get better. But he never said a word. It wouldn't help the broken clan move on if he was stuck on the past. Sometimes he wonders if that smile- the horribly fake smile- is ever seen through. If someone ever notices that sad, broken look in his eyes that he sees in every reflection. He's fought for years. He just marches on... He will still be true to himself, still help others, but he plans to just stay here in the cold, comfortably numb. They say there is a tree out of depression, one you can use to climb out of it, the problem is that he just can't find the will to reach out for the first branch, let alone try.
It's that day of drowning, here again. I don't want to get up. I don't want to move at all. And in that moment it takes all the strength he has to make a good choice, to open his eyes and take a breath.
After the torrenting storm, the sun shone brilliantly and the virescent color of the day under its glare was offensively bright and cheerful. It was as if they conspired to show him how the world would go on without his family. It shouldn't. Everything should have been as grey and foggy as his emotions, it should have been cold and damp with silent air. But the birds still sang and the flowers still bloomed. The mangled bodies of his clan in the aftermath was gutting. Why him? Why did he survive when he, of all cats, deserved to die the most? In that moment of loss, his world collapsed - he started to see darkness around the lights instead of the other way around. Though his mind called out for everyone, the connection was gone... they were gone... and finally, he knew that his time to be alone had come. Even the discovery of the seven other survivors didn't quench the burning flame of fury and sorrow that ignited in his heart.
Sorrow. It sits like leaf-fall rain on his fur, enough to chill what was once warm inside. It feels like an ocean falling upon him instead of rain - that the grief of years he had carefully suspended has all condensed right above his head into a cloud large enough to block the sun. They say it can't rain forever, that there will come a time when it must cease, that the last drop will have fallen. Thing is, Rubblecry can't seem to care. It was too much. All of it. Yet somehow, he kept moving. But the darkness grew darker; the pain grew sharper; all of it seemed to only grow in strength and he began to wonder if things could ever get better. But he never said a word. It wouldn't help the broken clan move on if he was stuck on the past. Sometimes he wonders if that smile- the horribly fake smile- is ever seen through. If someone ever notices that sad, broken look in his eyes that he sees in every reflection. He's fought for years. He just marches on... He will still be true to himself, still help others, but he plans to just stay here in the cold, comfortably numb. They say there is a tree out of depression, one you can use to climb out of it, the problem is that he just can't find the will to reach out for the first branch, let alone try.
It's that day of drowning, here again. I don't want to get up. I don't want to move at all. And in that moment it takes all the strength he has to make a good choice, to open his eyes and take a breath.
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