we are all innocent | open Sept 15, 2015 15:11:10 GMT -5
Post by birchpaw on Sept 15, 2015 15:11:10 GMT -5
white paws struck the earth in an uneven gait, sending his hind quarters into a spasm every time one of his hind legs touched down in an awkward way. there was nothing graceful about the way the bicoloured tom walked, nothing fluid in his movements, regardless of how hard he tried to get his paws to work properly. frustration threatened to blossom up in his gut, but he took a deep breath and swallowed it back down. he didn't want to feel frustrated. he didn't want to feel trapped. he didn't want to be stuck in this body for the rest of his life. starclan had a sick, twisted sense of humour, but the only problem was birchpaw wasn't laughing. he knew that he was a burden on the clan, felt it in his bones, even if no one said it out loud. sure, he was going to be medicine cat some day, but shouldn't he have had a choice in the matter? he should've been able to choose whether or not he wanted this life. if he wasn't crippled, he would've been able to be a warrior. would've been able to life a long, and full life without complications, find a mate, have kits of his own. but now? none of that was even a remote possibility.
it made him mad. no, not mad - furious. it killed him to see his denmates trialing after their mentors ready to learn everything about being a warrior. they would get to learn all the tricks for battle, how to hunt properly, and they could develop close friendships with their peers. who did birchpaw have? tigerstep. birchpaw admired tigerstep of course, but sometimes, he just wanted to be a kit still. he wanted to play with the other apprentices, and not have them constantly worry about whether or not they would hurt him. everything about his life made him angry. even in this moment, while on his way to the fresh-kill pile, he was battling frustration. walking from the den to the pile was already wearing him out, but he refused to let it show. so, the apprentice walked with his head held high, giving awkward nods to any cats he passed, until he was at the right side of the pile. the prey wasn't super fresh, but he knew that he needed something in his stomach. letting his splayed haunches sink to the ground, he winced as a spark of pain ignited at the base of his tail. i hate my life. he thought bitterly as he snatched a small vole from the pile and dragged it a short distance away.- - - - -
birchpaw wallowing in self-pity, ya'll