Stars
Your name is Robinpaw and you are a Shadowclan apprentice. You are smaller and scrawnier than the other apprentices; your dark pelt is rough and homely. You aren't up to pare with your hunting skills and you can barely fight.
They all chant your name with an obvious disliking. Every word feels like claws slowly and painfully raking your being. Shred by shred they destroy you. As much as you want it, you are no underdog and will never be an underdog. You are merely a shadow in your own clan.
You mother and father gawk over your brother, Redpaw, and his achievements. He exceeds in hunting and fighting; he is handsome and popular.
And yet for reasons unknown, you stay in your clan and suffer and push on and on, praying to Starclan that your life will get better when deep down, you know it's a farfetched ideal. For you are loyal even to those who hurt you over and over again. It's who you are, and not even Starclan can change that.
You are a shadow. A loyal image to a somebody. You continue to clasp onto the idea, the hope, of becoming a warrior. Being a somebody instead of a shadow. With every passing day, your hopes and dreams wither and fly further from your desperate claws. But you keep trying, as your dreams are all you've got. Robinstar is your dream and you refuse to give up on that idea. That cat.
So you continue the chase.
XXX
You are chosen to go to a gathering. It's the best news you have received in a long time. You walk beside that cat you like, Stormpaw. The young gray cat doesn't seem to notice your presence. It's painful for you, but you endure it just like the rest of your sorrows.
With your disappointment stowed away, you cross the log, trying hard to keep your balance.
"Move it, kit." A Windclan warrior mutters as he clears you with a single bound, landing just in front of you.
You grit your teeth. You're nine moons old.
Your scrawny body trembles on the log, your dull, weak claws do virtually nothing for you as you struggle to get a grip. Other cats grumble and groan at you to hurry up, some Riverclan cats even jump into the lake's frigid waters and swim to the island. Your pelt burns with embarrassment as your dull, plain yellow eyes watch more Riverclan warriors and apprentices and even a few elders abandon the log for the water. Your short stumpy tail does little to help your balance as you try your hardest to get to the island.
Finally, your pathetic claws and horribly shabby balance do you in and you fall after the Riverclan warriors with a loud splash. A few cats glance into the waters, but none care enough to dive in after you. Meanwhile, you struggle and thrash beneath the surface, barely forcing yourself to the surface. You cast pleading looks at the last fifteen or so cats as they cross the log. None seem to notice the small, shivering body of yours down below. However, Starclan is on your side tonight. You manage to get ashore.
The clearing is already packed with socializing cats. You sit on the sidelines and wait until the leaders begin conversing. All eyes either glance over you or ignore your shivering self.
You nod in acceptance. There's always going to be 'the loser' in the clans, and you have just been chosen for the role. You, Robinpaw, know that you are not and will never be an exceptional warrior in the eyes of Shadowclan.
XXX
You are at war. In the battleground, you are for once not ignored, but targeted.
A well groomed, muscular, ginger she-cat throws you to the ground and bares her teeth.
"Shadowclan scum." She hisses as she strikes your face.
Crimson quickly bubbles out of the claw marks as you yowl in pain, in submission. Your face twists into a determined grimace as you fight to get off your back. Another blow to your face silences your attempts and squeezes another pained scream from your lungs.
You cry out for help, "Redpaw! Stormpaw!"
When no one answers you, the she-cat sneers and rakes your ears. You twist around in your own skin, wanting to escape the horribleness of it all. She won't allow it and slashes at your throat. Warmth spreads across your throat and chest as it spills out into the grass.
Your eyes flash with panic. You silently plead for her to get off you, but her cold green eyes are swimming with a mocking hatred for you.
In one final attempt to survive, you rake at her belly with your dulled claws. She laughs at your flimsy attack, but backs off.
You choke on your own being, the pain you've bottled up your whole life forcing the fight to leave that homely, disgusting pelt of yours. You stare at the evening stars as you kick around in your painful spasms. Finally, you stop struggling and stare intently at an empty, dark space in the sky.
You realize that the chase is over. Your eyes never close as you step out of your bleeding corpse. You melt away into the stars and never look back.
You are Robinstar and you have won.