The sky is tumbling over a land entrenched in replicas where innovation is a moot point and originality has perished. Time has halted to a standstill here, revolving endlessly around iterations of the same idea where the concept of progression has become nothing more than a diluted fantasy. Reflected in the surface of the stagnant waters are images of tawdry exhibits that only serve to reaffirm that this place is a faux and derisive representation of what it can never aspire to be, only imitate.
I'm not certain of the precise moment in which this epiphany transpired, only that it all stemmed from a stray thought in my head that poised the question of whether or not there was more to my life than I was seeing. It was that string of consciousness that prompted the action in which I clawed away the veil of uncertainty and stepped across the threshold of realization to find the world I had resided in up till now was not as I had originally perceived it to be. It would mark an integral part in my life that I would go on to forevermore cherish and detest with all my being.
Just the thought, the mere speculation that there could be more than I was being allowed to witness struck a cord within me that resonated across the interior walls of my body, reverberating in a chorus of inquisitiveness. From there the feeling of wanting to know only intensified, burrowing deep down into my pores and dictating my every waking moment and movement. The more I sought after something that did not resemble the things around me, the more I came to the realization that that thing may in fact not exist. And the possibility of that being true ruined me.
There must be something or someone out there experiencing an interesting and unique existence. So why wasn't I? Why could I not find it? To commute into the lethargy of the monotone norm was like existing as a spec of dirt in an ocean of sand. No individuality, singular purpose, or quirk could set you aside from that swirling expanse of nothingness. I didn't want to be just another Clan cat continuing on with this charade of mundaneness.
Tales of conquest and passion were nothing more than hollow husks of timber that would disintegrate into dust at the slightest inclination. They held no weight of substance to them. I did not seek to destroy the Clans nor conquer them. I have never been outcasted for my lineage. I don't have a murderous vendetta against those who've done me wrong and neither do I seek retribution for the death of those close to me. Being trapped by entanglements of love, whether it is free or forbidden, neither entranced me. And the possibility of my name coming up in a prophecy that decreed I was destined to save the Clans was laughable at best.
The four Clans would be enemies until the end, trapped forever in a vicious cycle. And yet they all wanted the same things: prey to hunt, a safe territory to raise kits, and peace to share dreams with their ancestors. Why must they hate one another over such simple desires? These ideas were nothing new, just stale over superfluous rehashing's of history.
None of that would bring me any sense of closure or validation. That much I knew.
The problem with this secluded mind state, however, was that it did not reveal what I wanted, only what I did not. So to criticize everything around me as repetitive and lacking would only be seen as hypocritical if I could not offer rebuttal with something different.
Was I nothing more special than one of the many radiating specks of light in the sky, I wondered on nights end? What could I do to make my existence different from the tandem? All this and more plagued my heart with pitfalls of despair and suffocating thoughts of insecurity of my place in the grand scheme of things constricted me so tight and taut with woe that to extricate myself from it seemed near impossible.
I kept these inkling notions of uncertainty far away from the angled ears of my Clanmates. They were too set in their ways to ever truly comprehend these feelings of padding after something worthwhile. To get them to see what I saw wasn't plausible at this point.
It was within this internal crisis of identity that I came to the summation that the sky was tumbling down, suffocating me under the rubble of the shattered fractions of belief and security I had once held before questioning everything. It was burying me beneath a coalesced of my own want. Want that yowled so desperately and exuberantly that the lack of finding that something that was different only made me more determined to seek out and find that which was interesting and new.
I chose to depart from the Clan, abandoning the previous life that had weighed me down, clinging to me like mud, on a journey. This was a journey not of discovery, but for it.
I could've remained there and lived a life that most would probably be proud and content with, but I decided to chase after things not yet thought of. Indeed, I could not stay, for staying would only further to restrain and blur my desire for an existence more befitting than this one.
I became a wanderer, someone who comes and goes, disappearing without a hint or trace of their existence being there, leading others to call into question whether or not what they had saw had actually been there in the first place. Almost… like a spirit, if you will.
My journey would take me to the scarcest edges of the world, if need be, to places and lands where no other cat had ever dreamed to set paw. And I would do it all alone.
Beyond the boundary of my sight something more awaits.