FELIKS' AUGUST CDC TRACKER

[FELIKS]

FELIKS — SNOWBOUND

II. HURT - I WEAR THIS CROWN OF THORNS

He didn't like to be a broken record, to be like a society that repeated their problems over and over again because they refused to move on was a fate worse than death. There were times though when a record could not be cleaned, and was stuck in a forever pit of damage. They were the records you'd see in shop windows, shiny and damaged back concealed by vibrant lies of 'Best of 80's' and 'Just Dance' and other such titles. No one would ever buy them, because secondhand things weren't appreciated, but for just a split second someone in the world would appreciate their imperfect art. Records were inanimate objects however, they could not feel happiness or sadness or pain and they had no beholder's eye to give them a sense of self worth. Sometimes, Feliks wished he had that simple of a personality, where he could not be hurt by vicious words or tangled claws. Truthfully, though he may've acted like the biggest asshole on the face of God's green earth, he knew pain more than anyone else did, he was sure of it.

The pain of betrayal was an obvious one, it was a song that echoed throughout his life, tormenting him for relying on others for survival. But, perhaps one a bit more blunt to the naked eye was the physical pain that the male had endured. When looking at the face, rarely shy and effeminate anymore, if one could look past an overbearing smirk and eyes that flashed with malice, there was a scar. From ear tuft to lower beak it stood out like a sore thumb, a reddish mark against a messy flurry of golds and yellows. Though not too obvious about its origins, if asked, Feliks could not be secretive - he'd done it to himself. Emotions had become too much for him, angry voices and hisses had caused him to have an outburst of woe by himself and digging a sharp object straight down his face seemed to be the only way to control his sobs. It had been self-inflicted punishment, perhaps not for the right reasons - he'd just delievered vigilante justice to his rugged appearance for being so weak as to listen to what others told him.

Another time where he'd been hurt physically was in his leg, an everlasting blight on the aging griffon's good health. Being savagely mauled, the attacker had gone after his hind knee, impaling it with no other reason than to hear the screams of agony. Even settled by himself within Snowbound territory the male remembered that day, paws shaking with apprehension as he swore he heard his own blood-curdling screams once more. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Feliks moved his talons around, gazing down nervously at a mound of poppy seeds he'd stolen. The biggest pain of all though? Needing opiates to function, those other times of hurt had been in the past. Addiction, it felt like a past, present and future problem and an answer to vexing problems with his condition. Bad times shouldn't last forever, should they?

© MADI