WASSAP GUYS?! Ok, so this chap is super wordy for some dumb reason. Idk.
The beginning of the chapter is actually, in a really weird way, from the perspective of the clump of fur that was stuck in between thornstar's claws. I know that sounds really weird but just read it! It was the first time ive ever written something from the perspective of an inanimate object, so bear with me!
Well, enjoy!
Oh, and I put the rest of "Five" at the end, so read it if u want to c how that story ends :D
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The tuft of fur swirled away on the evening breeze, caught in a draft, flying away from the angry, crazy tom. What was his deal? Why was he so . . . insane? Delusional? Obsessed with power? The real question was what was he actually? Was he really insane, or was he just a normal cat, overwhelmed with the responsibility of power?
Maybe he had a mental problem. Maybe he didn't. It was hard to tell. The way he acted—beating kits, wanting unrealistically large amounts of power, harming other cats without caring about them—could have been an actual problem that cats had, but it could also be as simple as the cat just having no heart, no soul.
Thornstar was a difficult case when it came to deciding whether or not he was insane or just cruel. Did he see things? Did he hear voices? No one other than him would ever know, unless someone was foolish enough to ask him. Then, the only thing they would discover was how claws feel digging into your throat. And after, they'd feel how death felt like when he payed you a visit. It was best to keep your mouth shut instead of asking the cat what was truly on your mind.
The fur was lifted higher into the air as the wind blew on. It was an interesting concept, what the . . . troubled, let's call him, leader had thought, that peace would eventually be blown away by the winds of destruction and chaos. Then that was what Thornstar wanted? Destruction? Chaos? Did he even want the power, or was it just an excuse to see more violence, to have the feeling of fur and blood beneath his claws yet again? Maybe he wanted both, and he could, say, kill two rabbits with one swipe.
The wind that the tuft of fur was floating on suddenly gave out, sending it falling effortlessly to the ground on the other side of the river.
While it was true, of course, that peace could never last forever, the same truth applied to chaos and destruction. Eventually it would come to an end, either in that a shaky agreement of peace was made, or that every cat died, drowning in their own want for war. The point was that bloodshed would eventually cease, and peace would rise up yet again. It would come again, no matter the situation, taking its rightful place in every Gathering and every occasional border patrol sighting of another clan checking their own territory.
It was clear, though, that peace was not in Thornstar's picture of a perfect world. The troubled leader would obviously not give up in his want for war, possibly even going to the extreme more than he already had. Who knew what he could do as a dead cat, walking in the dreams of power hungry cats like him? They would learn banned battle moves, ways to unendingly make the fur on the other leaders' backs stand on end and bristle in rage. And if one of those cats became the leader of a clan, then the future of the forest and moors alike would be in deep trouble, even more so if the cat turned out to be more corrupt and evil than Thornstar himself.
It had been a quite recent event, Thornstar's change in character. Before, he had always been kind, but still harsh when he needed to be, and willing to agree with the other clans, but not afraid to oppose them, too. Now, it was just 'I'm right, you're wrong' from him. No one was worth listening to because none of them were as great and powerful as he. To him, that was what defined the importance of a cat.
Which helped him emotionally when it came to hurting them. They aren't powerful, they don't deserve to live; they aren't amazingly strong, then they shouldn't be wasting the precious breath that better cats could be breathing, helping them to live longer, more important lives.
It was all in the hierarchy for the WindClan leader. It was a surprise to quite a few of the cats, not only in the moor clan, but in the others as well, that the cat had let elders and weak kits stay in the clan at all. They made WindClan look weak; wasn't that reason enough to throw them out?
But even Thornstar wasn't foolish enough to throw them out. He had heard the age old stories of Brokenstar and what had happened to him after all that he had done. Thornstar didn't really want to be blinded. It would make him weaker. And if there was one thing that Thornstar wasn't, it was weak.
No no, the leader of WindClan wouldn't be as stupid as that ShadowClan cat so many years ago. Yes, he would be just as hungry for blood, and yes, he would still enjoy the thrill of ending another cat's life, but he wouldn't be so dumb as to break the warrior code and have reason to be kicked out of his powerful position. Well, at least he wouldn't let anyone know about him breaking the code if he did. No one would ever know about him hurting that dumb little ThunderClan kit.
But it was for the good of his clan, and that was what mattered . . . not like it had pained him to hurt her. If she couldn't defend herself, then why live at all, right?
That was his logic. That was just the way that the WindClan leader thought. And no one could change that about him.
A muzzle shoved itself into the small pile of fur lying next to the river. A ThunderClan cat. It growled and picked it up in its jaws, running away from the water and into the forest beyond.
There was reason to hope, though, for the future of the forest, even if Thornstar's ominous ways hung over the heads of the cats every time they practiced battle moves or saw a rabbit on the freshkill pile. There was ThunderClan, after all. And RiverClan and ShadowClan. Three other clans with peace in them and plans for the future.
Then the future of the clans wasn't totally doomed, right? Three out of four of the clans would carry on with their lives in the years to come. And if WindClan was wiped out because of the actions of one cat, then so be it. Life would move on.
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Aspenkit scooched around in her nest, trying to get comfortable. The painful scratches that Thornstar had given her were almost everywhere on her body, ensuring that there was no possible way for her to go to sleep without at least feeling an ache of pain somewhere on her pelt.
He had brutally attacked her just a few hours ago. Now it was sundown and she was still shaking in her fur. Would he attack her again before nightfall? Would he attack her again tomorrow? Or the day after that?
Aspenkit's ears slumped to her head. She hated living in fear. But there wasn't really any other choice in this situation. He was a full grown cat, while she still had all of her kit fur. He could kill her with a swipe of his paw and there would be nothing she could do about it.
Wolfkit and Spikekit had questioned her about her scratches, of course, when she got back to the nursery. Remembering Thornstar's words to not tell anyone about what had happened, she told them that she had accidentally run into a bramble bush. Aspenkit had seen them exchange looks, and they both clearly read that they didn't believe one word from her mouth. But they had known better than to say anything else. Thankfully.
Now the three friends sat next to each other, silently watching the sunset through the nursery entrance. There was nothing else to do than that. Just sit and watch.
Aspenkit sighed as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, taking any last light with it. "There goes our only entertainment," she croaked, trying to put a little bit of amusement into the evening.
Spikekit sadly nodded his head. "I really wish you could go outside."
"Yeah," Aspenkit meowed, then suddenly blurted out, "Thank you two so much."
They lifted their heads, surprised at her words. "What for?" Wolfkit asked.
"For being my friends," she replied. "And for staying in here with me. And for sharing your freshkill."
Wolfkit purred. "You're welcome."
Spikekit nodded, eyes alight with happiness. "It's worth it to get to hang out with you. Who knew that a ThunderClan cat could be so fun?"
Aspenkit's eyes narrowed in pretend anger. "What's that supposed to mean?"
They laughed, rolling on the floor, the night finally being turned from glum to fun. They stayed up talking for as long as they could, finally being shushed by the guard outside and put to bed by Goldspark.
Aspenkit sighed as she lay in her nest. It wasn't a happy sigh, or a sad sigh, or one of content or relief. It carried no emotion. But at the same time, it carried all of the emotions in the world.
Aspenkit sometimes felt happy here.
Sometimes, she felt sad.
Sometimes mad.
Relieved.
Depressed.
Downright bored.
The daily jumbles of emotion that she would feel while in the WindClan camp were enough to emotionally drain any cat, not just her. So she would sleep and feel completely emotionally replenished by sunrise.
But she had doubts in her mind as she drifted off to sleep that night. Doubts that she would always wake up in the enemy camp feeling ready for the upcoming day. She knew that her optimistic feelings would eventually wear out if every day ended up being like that day had been.
She just didn't know how long it would take for WindClan to drain her of her emotions completely, leaving her as rigid and plain as a lone tree, unshaken by any winds.
She wished she could say that wind had left her as untouched as that tree.
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Aspenkit woke in the middle of the night, desperately needing to use the dirtplace.
She hopped out of her nest awkwardly, making sure not to step on any sleeping cats as she made her way to the nursery entrance.
Stupid Thornstar, she thought to herself. If he hadn't frightened me so much, I would've gone to the dirtplace ages ago. She had been too scared to leave the nursery after he attacked her, sure that he would jump out at her and hurt her again if she so much as took a step out of the den that she was confined to.
The black and silver kit poked her head through the entrance of the nursery. "Brownclaw?" she whispered to the guard.
He glared at her angrily. "What are you doing awake? Go back to bed!"
Aspenkit swallowed nervously. "I-I h-have to go to the dirtplace."
The guard groaned and rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Can't you hold it in until morning?" When the kit shook her head urgently, he growled. "Fine. Follow me."
He led her the few fox lengths to the dirtplace tunnel, sitting next to it in a huff. "Make it quick," he snapped at her as she disappeared inside of the tunnel.
She made her dirt and covered it up quickly like Brownclaw had said, but something caught her eye before she could run back down the tunnel.
Right outside of the dirtplace wall, outside of the WindClan camp, were two gleaming eyes, staring straight back at Aspenkit. Mesmerized, Aspenkit looked back. Something about the bright yellow eyes seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she had seen them before.
At least, she didn't recognize the cat until he shouted one thing, causing a dozen more pairs of eyes to open and fling their owners into the WindClan camp, bombarding the moor dens.
"ThunderClan, attack!"
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2021 words! Boooyah!
So how was that chapter? Good, I hope! This chapter seems to be a lot more vocabulary-y than the other ones…id don't know y it turned out that way…..
Anyways, so next chapter will (obviously) be a battle! Im super excited to write it and I hope ur super excited to read it! This will be the first time that ive written a battle before, so it may be a little shaky.
IMPORTANT! IMPORTANT! IMPORTANT! IMPORTANT! Ok, so I know a bunch of u probably read the part of the extra story, "Five," that I put at the bottom of chap10. Well, I decided to put the second part on today because one of my reviewers said that she would love to finish reading it but she's a guest so she can't pm me. BE WARNED IF U ARE TO READ IT! IT IS NOT RATED "G!" MORE LIKE "PG13", "T" IF IT WERE A FANFICTION! JUST WARNING U!
QOTDT: what quote/sentence from this whole chapter was ur favorite or sounded the most impressive/well written?
Thnx for reading! Will update soon! Don't forget to suggest, correct, and review! Byeee!
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Last warning, people! Enter at ur own risk! XD
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Five
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A screech ripped through the ever silent night, filling every ear with sound. It drew out, long and endless, its owner squeezing his small hands to his ears. His mother hurriedly bustled him into the car, slamming the door behind him, which slightly muffled the sounds. The inner of the car was worse for her, though, the noise having no escape, like a gazelle surrounded by a starved pride of lions.
Once inside the car, she threw a small, baby blue blanket at the boy, who immediately silenced his incessant shrieking. Instead, he took up rocking back and forth in the chair, muttering underneath his breath, his gaze nervously darting back and forth. The small piece of cloth was clutched in his grasp, looking as if it could turn into shreds of string at any moment. The lady glanced over at the boy at any spare moment, between overhead lamps and red stoplights. Over time, the boy's uneasiness grew, until he started whimpering, only moments away from an all-out scream once again.
He was taking the gasp of air that would fuel the scream when the minivan abruptly squealed to a halt in front of a seemingly deserted old building. The lady quickly got out of the car, pulling her son behind her and into the tired old structure. There, at the front desk, sat an old lady spiritlessly flipping through a two year old magazine on home decoration. She looked up and her eyes instantly grew as wide as plates. She quickly went into a back room and returned with an old and quite serious looking man, who ushered the two into another tiny room, leaving the lady to resume her magazine reading.
The boy didn't exactly remember what they were saying, only that it was in a low and urgent whisper. He didn't care. It was just another voice, blending in with the others. He pressed his hand to his ears again, attempting to block out the noise, but succeeding even less than before. They grew louder and louder, never ceasing, until every inch of his small body was filled with the noise of their voices, their screams, all competing for his attention. His eyes were squeezed so tight that they started to actually hurt. He began to whimper out of fright, but it was lost among the voices. It rose to a screech before long, but that too was overpowered.
In an instant, the lady was at his side, hugging him and patting his hair. What was it with him? Why was he like this all of a sudden? She looked at the man for answers, but his squinty gaze was on the child, who had begun to quiet his yell. She turned back to her son and helplessly watched him as he finally finished his panic attack and opened his brilliant blue eyes once again. They stared into hers, afraid and nervous. She gave him his blanket once more and he stared at it, only slightly comforted by its softness and captivation. He held it in his arms again and closed his eyes, a tiny smile on his lips. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep. But just as his eyes were closing and the voices were fading, he heard his mother say one word to the man: alright.
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He woke up sitting in the chair that he had fallen asleep in, his blanket clutched in his hand, but that was the only thing he recognized. He couldn't guess even in the slightest where he was. He looked around at his surroundings, afraid and a bit disappointed, but mostly curious. He was sitting in the middle of a stuffy, miniscule room with no door or mean of entrance or exit at all. Oddly, though, there was a small black square on one wall. Once he got closer, he noticed that it had a glare to it that made it almost look like glass, like obsidian.
Spooked, the ten year old backed up until his back smashed into the opposite wall. He sank to the floor, now more panicked than intrigued. He tried to stay calm, but couldn't control himself for long. He backed into the corner, his panting gaining speed until he was fighting for breath.
Not again! He begged silently and desperately to no one. Please, not again! He knew it would begin again: the far off murmur, then the loud talking, than the screaming, than every noise imaginable, all jumbled together like a massacre.
He sat in the corner, trembling, burying his head in his arms, until finally it started. But it didn't happen like routine. The voices barely got to the normal voice level when they just stopped increasing. The child should have been comforted by this, but it just made him feel more desperate for it to stop. But it didn't stop. It lasted longer than the normal length of the screams, much longer, stretching into forever.
Right when he thought he was about to go mad from the noise, it stopped. Confused, he looked up and immediately pressed himself closer into the corner.
Standing next to the window was an old man, sixty or seventy at least. He wore rags for clothes and had on a gross sunhat on his head, the smell it was emitting actually visible. Every part of him was covered in dirt and grotesque, untreated burns and boils. He had a huge, bloodied bandage on his left leg, almost covering it up entirely. He had no shoes, his feet torn up and disfigured from the countless streets they had walked unshielded. He had a current, unending twitch of his right arm and left eyelid and he breathed in ragged gasps, each looking like it could be his last.
At first, his focus was nowhere, staring off into space uncertainly, but then his head snapped around and his gaze pierced the boy's. They stayed that way for a full minute, old man and little boy, both looking into each other's eyes, neither saying a word. But it didn't last long. The old man narrowed his eyes, the left one twitching, and he finally broke the silence.
"Five," he uttered.
The boy blinked, surprised and scared. "Wh-what?"
"Five."
The boy swallowed and looked at the man, trying to read his thoughts by looking into his eyes. But nothing was given away in the man's sad old look. "What does 'five' mean?" he asked cautiously.
But all the man did was shake his head sadly and repeat himself. "Five." Then he twitched once more and flickered out of existence in the blink of an eye.
"Wha—no!" the boy screamed. "What does that mean? Come back!" He got to his feet and ran to the place where the man was, searching for where he could have gone. Yet there was no place to where he could have possibly escaped. The only thing in the whole room was the small, rickety chair. He resumed calling out anyways, searching for the man who had said a total of three words to him. He eventually gave up and went back to his corner, grasping for his blanket once again. He shuttered and shivered, trying to use the blanket as some sort of warmth. He considered moving to the chair, but he was too scared that something could sneak up on him from behind, so he stayed in his cold, uncomfortable corner.
As he fell asleep again, the word the man had spoken passed through his mind once again, and he wondered what 'five' could possibly mean as he drifted into sleep.
. . . ….. . . .
The boy's mother looked down at her son as he stared, hypnotized, at the corner of the one-way mirror. She watched as he started talking hurriedly, then screamed, and then ran around the room, looking as if he was searching for something, eventually collapsing in the corner with his blue scrap of cloth. His eyes closed after a while, and his breath slowed.
The lady turned desperately to the man from the old building, who had seen the whole thing. "Well?!" she exclaimed at him. "What's wrong with him? Why is he all of a sudden like this?"
The man answered the question with a question. "How long has he been like this?"
The lady opened her mouth wordlessly, then stuttered, "I—I don't know! Four, five weeks, maybe! But what's wrong with him?"
Another question. "How long ago did his father die?"
And just like that, the lady was thrown back into the memories of her husband's death: the fiery car crash, the drunken teen who had caused it, both drivers dead, the funeral that had come too soon, and the burial. She had visited his grave every day since, sometimes bringing her son, sometimes going alone when he was in school. Hours spent there, crying alone and heartbroken. She had tried to stay strong for her ten year old son, but he was smarter than she gave him credit for.
She shook herself out of her melancholy memories and answered the question. "Nine weeks, four days," she croaked, tears swelling in her eyes.
"And he was fine before that?"
"Yes."
"Then what I suspected is probably true," the man said. "Your son, Danny, is probably feeling abandonment issues. He feels lost and left behind without his father." Tears streaked down the lady's cheeks. "He's going insane from feeling alone. He has probably forgotten that you are here for him. And until he realizes that he needs you," he said, leaning in towards the lady at that last part, "he will stay this way."
The lady wiped at her cheeks with her hand before she replied. "S-so…we have to do it then?"
The man nodded. "It makes the most sense."
The lady looked down at her son, huddled in the corner and shivering, occasionally twitching and whimpering in his sleep. It was for the best. She had to. After, she would explain and he would understand. She sighed, then took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do it."
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(AUTHOR'S NOTE: LAST CHANCE TO TURN BACK, PEOPLE!...OK, I WARNED U…..)
Danny sat huddled in his normal spot, the corner, facing the black, mysterious square. He had been locked up in this place for—how long?—three full days now and he hadn't seen sunshine once. Every day since, the old ragged man had come again, and every day he had said one word, but it had changed from 'five.' The second day, it was 'four,' and then 'three,' and the day before it was 'two.' All that Danny knew was that the man was counting down, but he still had no idea why he was counting down.
So Danny sat in the corner and waited, with his torn up shred squeezed in his hands. He stayed there, until the ever so familiar voices began in his head. He sat and breathed deeply, trying to ignore it as usual. It grew until it was many normal voices all chiming together as one, going on and on until it finally ended. He opened his eyes.
The man was back. They both stared into each other's eyes as normal until the old man squinted and spoke. "One."
Danny nodded and kept the old man's gaze. He had learned that the elder would never answer any questions with anything other than the number. It wasn't worth asking him at all. Danny already knew his answer. So he sat and stared, until the man gave his trademark twitch and faded away at last.
The boy sighed. The old man had been his only visitor for the past few days. Where was his mother? Had she noticed his absence?
He rested his head on his arms again and closed his eyes in thought, but then opened them hurriedly when he heard a small beep. He looked up and saw no difference in the room, but suddenly a voice rang out, loud and clear, around the room. Not the kind that only he heard for some reason, but a normal, worldly noise.
"Danny?" it said, low and manly. The boy thought he might have heard it before, but he couldn't be sure. "Danny, I have some news for you."
Danny immediately sat up, excited. His mother must be here to take him away from this place. She hadn't forgotten about him after all! They could finally get on with their normal lives again!
"My mom's here, right?" he asked excitedly. "We're going home now! I can't wait to see my home!"
There was a pause from the voice before it responded. "No Danny. Your mother isn't here. She—"
"Then she's coming?" the boy interrupted. "She'll be here for me tomorrow?"
Another pause, and then, "No Danny. Your mom isn't coming here. Not now, not ever again."
It was the boy's turn to not say anything. A bazillion questions went through his mind, but he could only voice one. "Why?" he whispered. "What did I do wrong?"
"Your mother can't handle the stress that she's under right now. She's going to live somewhere else, and she's signed you up for adoption." The voice hesitated again, and then added, "I'm sorry, but you'll never see her again."
Danny didn't know if the voice kept talking or not, but he had stopped listening. The voices in his head started up again, but he couldn't hear them over his own thoughts screaming inside of his skull. Anger. Dismay. Depression. Overwhelming sadness. Why was she gone? Why had she left? What had he done wrong? He could have changed!
But now she was gone and he'd never see her ever again. She was gone for good. He sank to the floor and bawled his eyes out. Now he really was all alone. He didn't want to be adopted. All he wanted was his mother. And if he didn't have his mother, he had nothing at all.
Once he came back to his senses, he realized that the voice had stopped and that the lights had begun to dim, meaning it was time for him to sleep. But he couldn't sleep. Not now.
Danny wasn't sure how long he sat there, thinking. But it was long enough for him to decide what he would do. Without his mother, he was all alone in the world. His mom was the only person who kept him going. Without her, he just couldn't do that.
He took his blue blanket and squeezed it in his hands before he draped it around his neck. He began to tie a knot in it, his neck in in the center of it. He took both sides of the blanket and pulled as tight as he could, choking himself and closing his windpipe. His head started to ache and bulge painfully, his supply of air cut off.
His view shifted as he fell sideways and his head collided with the ground. He looked towards the corner of the room, next to the black square and he saw the old man who had been visiting him. And right before his eyes closed for the last time and his vision turned black for good, he heard the man say one last word: "Zero."
. . . ….. . . .
"Nooooooooo!" The lady screeched as she saw the body of her dead son, huddled in the corner where he had been so often. "Nooooooooooo! You said it would work! You said he'd be cured if I went through with this!"
The man stared at the boy from behind the glass, speechless, mouth agape. "I-it always works. I-I don't understand. Why…?"
"He's dead! And it's all your fault!" she broke down and sobbed, all her anger replaced with mournful sorrow. "He was all I had left!" she cried. She ignored the man trying to comfort her, instead pushing him away and running out the door. She ran outside, her vision a blur, and threw herself into her car. Driving home, she ignored all red lights and road laws and just drove home as fast as she could.
Her thoughts raced through her head, like a swarm of bees, and she began to hear something. At first, she couldn't identify what it was, but it soon grew louder and she realized what it was. It was the sounds of hundreds of peoples' voices, all chiming in together. They grew louder and louder until they were almost unbearable.
To her relief, she finally drove into her driveway and ran into her house. She flopped down onto the couch, using a pillow to try to muffle the screams. But they just kept coming, louder and louder. She screamed, the noise driving her mad, until she thought that her head would split from the insanity.
But then it stopped. Completely. The lady looked up from her pillow, hoping it was done for good. But what she saw then just made her even more frightened.
A man stood in her doorway. He was ragged and dirty, with bandages everywhere and open sores all over his body. He had a disgusting hat on his head and a repeating twitch of his right arm and left eye.
The man looked into the lady's petrified eyes with a clear gaze. He stood there breathing hoarsely, until he finally spoke a single word to her. "Five."
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Ok, u can't say I didn't warn u, bc I warned u LIKE A THOUSAND TIMES! . . . . but that ending is pretty great, isn't it? If u don't get it, leave it in a review and ill explain. And review/pm me to tell me ur thots on "Five" or "The Aspen's Screech"!
Thnx for reading either one or two of the stories! Ur da coolest! XD Bye!