I Will Not Bow
He sits silently, watching the world around him as he sits on his perch.
Watching his followers gather around his dumpster.
The teeth in his purple collar are rubbing against his throat but he doesn't dare to try and take it off.
To do so would show weakness.
The dirty starved cats surrounding him make him want to puke from their breath alone.
But they are his followers.
And he shall lead them to victory.
He stands up and the surrounding rouges instantly silence themselves, his very presence is enough to make a tough and raggedy rouge quiver in fear.
He signals to them with a tail flick and leaps down to join them on the hard concrete.
They clear a path for him as he walks out the dark alleyway.
His black pelt gleams in the moonlight as he leads his clan to either battle or a better life.
They could not possibly lose to those star loving forest cats!
The cats behind him fall into line, making a line of brawny rouges following a tiny tom.
They make their way out of the city, no kittypet or loner dares to ask where the ruthless clan is going.
To do so would mean death.
Their studded claws click against the hard road.
That is all the sound that could be heard from the clan.
Then they become silent as they reach the forest.
Making their way through the closely packed trees, they survey the land that could soon be theirs. No, would be theirs.
At least the cats in line do.
The tom leading them is lost in thought.
His head is swimming with the memories of how it all came down to this.
His memories give him answers, but not enough.
Why did he go to all of this trouble?
All for a cat who had scarred him, mentally and physically.
A cat which was now dead.
Struck down by cat he had wronged and had the guts to ask for help.
He replayed different scenes of his life in his head.
"Why do we have to play with him? He's just a runt!"
His sister yowls at their mother.
All he had done was ask if he could play hide and seek with them but that had started an argument between them.
He shakes his head. His siblings were dead to him now. Metaphorically and literally.
All he can feel is pain.
Pure pain.
His one white paw is soaked blood red.
His legs are shaking and his bright blue eyes are wide with fear.
The huge kit in front of him was grinning at him mercilessly.
He can see his own blood staining the bigger kit's white teeth.
His blood.
From his wounds.
Wounds from a fight lost.
The last fight lost.
Never again had he lost.
He would not give in to weakness and had joined the rouges in the city.
He looks up from the ground and halts.
He knows that the fiery tom will not surrender and will want to fight.
So only one thought resonates in his head.
I will not lose.
His clan looks at him funny.
They can't understand what is going through his mind.
The need to win, never to lose.
For him, to lose is weakness, and weakness is death.
"I will not lose."
His small body starts to shake.
The black fur is rising along his back.
"I will not lose!"
His yowl sends birds flying from their nests. They flaw loudly into the rising sun, cawing in distress.
Good.
They should fear him.
For he never loses.
To lose is to bow down to defeat.
And he never loses.
"I will not fall!
You will not beat me!
I am Scourge!
I will not lose!"
He takes in a great breath of air.
Getting ready for the bolt into the forest.
Towards battle.
"I will not bow!"