I am cold, but I enjoy it. I am in pain, but I embrace it. I am filled with hate, but I try to contain it.
I am cold because my mother is gone; no longer is her soft, warm belly here for me to nuzzle into, to bring me the comfort and security that I need. I am cold because my sister, my only sibling, is gone too; I can feel the empty air where I know she should be. I am cold because I refuse to curl up to a cat who is not my mother. I sit away from her, my icy eyes glaring in her direction through the tiny slit my eyelids left me to see through.
I am in pain, and my wounds are throbbing. I shouldn't be bearing these marks of battle; I am young, I am only a kit, I am so helpless, but that didn't matter when the fight that took my family away from me occurred. The cats who so heartlessly tore them out of my life did not care that I was too young to deserve to feel pain. But the physical pain drowns out the ache in my heart; so I will take it.
The hate within me seems so impossible for me to contain. And yet, how could someone so innocent, so pure, be filled with such a negative emotion, to such an extreme? It is true, and no one knows it but me. I am quiet; they figure it is the shock of my loss, and the fear that comes with it. They are wrong; I am fighting to control the anger, the fury, the agony that crashes and explodes inside of me. I want to curse the beings who have forced this pain upon me, I want them to experience exactly how much I am hurting, but I can only dream with empty hopes.
I cast a jealous glance of loathing at the three kittens at the other side of the nursery; they are sleeping contently, their minds are not stained with a darkness like mine. They have a mother who will nurse them and love them and care for them and protect them and...
My thoughts trail off, and I am left to fend for myself in the endless torture that is my own mind. Some of these feelings I cannot name or describe; it is so unusual for me to experience. Up until a few nights ago, my life had been nothing but happiness, warmth, love, and even excitement at times. And now I have sunk to the bottom of an ocean of despair, and I am too weak to escape it. I am drowning, I am searching for the air, the relief, the escape that is not there.
I try to focus on my throbbing, aching wounds again. It is easier; I like it. I vaguely hear my 'foster mother' trying to convince me to suckle. I ignore her, pointedly turning my head away. I wish I could escape from this pain, but even in my dreams it does not leave me. It might be worse, even. Because in my dreams I escape from this scene, although the hurt is still there. I do not understand why there is so much pain, when everything in my dreams are the way they used to be, but then I wake up, and it aches more than ever.
I am fighting again, this time against the drooping of my eyelids. I do not wish to wake up in the morning to experience this torture again. I am a coward; I am willing to take death to be freed. I would take death over this, no matter how painful it was. At least I'd be with my mother and sister again. Suddenly, the pain was pushed aside for a moment, and a desperate longing filled it. A desperate longing to die.
Please review if you like it, or if I need improvements, or even to suggest something. Can you guess what this emotion was?
Anyways, I have the next chapter finished, and I'm half-way through the third, so if you want more, please review!
