09-01-2020, 01:31 PM
The sound of cries, commotion, would be what hesitantly brought the female. Before, she would run, try her hardest to find the trouble before it was too late. But it was always too late. And she was tired. Death gripped the air, every waking day, and the tigress could say nothing. She was transported, smaller, crippled, back to a time where fear drowned her out. Pain floating around, guilt hanging above, the bodies, the eyes, staring down to her.
But she'd burned it down. Burned it all down.
So, why, did the tigress feel this way still? Why did she watch, helplessly, as her family dropped like flies? Perhaps it was a bad omen. The Gods trying to prove something to her, shout to her that she has done them wrong somehow, and that this was her punishment. Perhaps an unknown enemy lingered in the air, taking all it seemed fit, no mercy whether they were mothers, lovers, cousins, sons, friends. He was still a child. And such a fate was not suited for children. It was not their time. A paw would reach out to step forward, she thought, but her body remains where it is. Detachment, not unlike weeks before when she'd awoken to the body in her bed. The thorns pierced, pointing directly into their skin. The roses were wilting.
And there she stands, unable to do anything but stare as her younger cousin lay there, dead, brother crying, mother breaking.
But she'd burned it down. Burned it all down.
So, why, did the tigress feel this way still? Why did she watch, helplessly, as her family dropped like flies? Perhaps it was a bad omen. The Gods trying to prove something to her, shout to her that she has done them wrong somehow, and that this was her punishment. Perhaps an unknown enemy lingered in the air, taking all it seemed fit, no mercy whether they were mothers, lovers, cousins, sons, friends. He was still a child. And such a fate was not suited for children. It was not their time. A paw would reach out to step forward, she thought, but her body remains where it is. Detachment, not unlike weeks before when she'd awoken to the body in her bed. The thorns pierced, pointing directly into their skin. The roses were wilting.
And there she stands, unable to do anything but stare as her younger cousin lay there, dead, brother crying, mother breaking.
NOTHING'S EVER LOST FOREVER, IT'S JUST HIDING IN THE RECESS OF YOUR MIND AND WHEN YOU NEED IT, IT WILL COME TO YOU AT NIGHT. I MISS THE YELLOW. I MISS THE YELLING AND THE SHAKEDOWN. I'M NOT COMPLAINING, NO, I GOT A BETTER SET OF KNIVES NOW. I MISS MY DRUMMER, MY DEAD STEPBROTHER, AND THE PIT CROWD. AND CHUCK AND MATTY - IF THEY COULD SEE ME THEY'D BE SO PROUD.