- Sep 9, 2022
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❀❀ I FEEL SCARED AND I'M STARTING TO SINK ❀❀
periwinklebreeze | 11 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
periwinklebreeze | 11 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
Wordcount: 1,215
CW: blood + death
backwritten; takes place the night after his warrior ceremony
[ "Somewhere inside this closet your whole life exists, an evil little secret that keeps you so nervous. You're boarding up your windows, in fetal on the floor - but what you're keeping out is on the wrong side of the door." ]
Labored breathing and the tap-tap-tapping of paws pounding upon the earth is the only sound in the otherwise silent night. Blood rushes loudly in his ears - every heartbeat battering his eardrums with its thump. It's all he can do to run - run run run! - as he feels the heat bearing down on his tail, on his spine, his neck - feels the monster creeping closer and closer, predator and prey. Paws snag on a felled branch with a loud clatter - sending him sprawling head over paws, bruises and scraps littering his frame and sending shooting pain through every limb. Jaws close around his tail - tugging him, pulling him, dragging him away. "No no no!" he flails about, panicking, but it's to late - blue eyes meet amber and as saliva splatters down upon him he knows it is over - he is as good as dead. He closes his eyes, nothing left but to accept his fate.
But the killing blow never comes.
One eye and then the other slowly crack open in confusion, startled. There is no fox bearing down upon him - no monster, no killer. Instead it is he who is bearing down upon a smaller frame - browns fur and blue eyes, a cub. No - not this again! As though his body has a mind f it's own he feels himself move forwards, goes for the kill - sees the fear and confusion in the creatures eyes as he sinks his teeth into it's throat. He can feel blood splatter upon his tongue with every sluggish heartbeat as it tries to flail about - one paw trapped, the other three unable to find purchase on his much taller frame. And then it's over - gone, dead. A lifeless little thing, eyes unblinking and glassy.
Pink tongue swipes at his lips, licking the blood clean - the metallic taste unmistakable. One ink stained paw comes to hover near his face - also damp. As he stares he realizes that the horror is... not gone, but muted. Why had he been so upset? Why had he cried over the death of something that would gladly have done the same to him if given the chance? He... doesn't know anymore.
He goes to turn away only to recoil in horror - no, that's not - that's impossible. It's no longer a fox that lay bloodied and lifeless at his paws but his mother - hyacinthbreath.The stomach churning sickness returns full force, paws scrambling backwards blindly in his terror. He- had he really? Was she- ?
He heaves and heaves, but all that comes up is blood - so much blood. He wants to scream, wants to cry, but the blood won't stop spilling - won't stop pouring out onto the ground, staining the ground and his paws and everything until there is only red.
Blue eyes snap open with a sharp gasp - lithe figure jolting to his paws - a wave of dizziness sending stars dancing across his vision. Confusion blurs his mind - he feels the press of a body against his own, and looks down to find familiar silver pelts beside him - impossible. Nightingale? Why is she here-?
Something is not right. The feeling of wrongness lingers upon his sleep addled mind, and it is then he realizes that it is cold - that she is cold. Not a single breath leaves her body, nothing left of her but an empty shell. He flees - but there is no escape. Bodies litter the camp, each and every one utterly silent, not a single sign of life left within. Not one soft breath, raised chest, flick of a tail - nothing. Not dazzle or azalea or snail or gravel or vulture or golden or shadow or sunflower or dust or-or-or- anyone. Nothing but their empty bodies laying slain upon the ground, blood upon their throats. Just like the fox.
He- he needs to go, to get away from whatever has done this to them. He turns to run - that's all he does, isn't it? - when he catches his reflection in the puddle and freezes. He feels as though he cannot look away from the sight that meets him. The figure in the water looks nothing like him - standing tall and proud, a bright grin on it's face. Blood stains is muzzle - splashes across his cheek, his chest - as though he has practically bathed in it. He can hear muffled noises... no, voices, and familiar ones at that. He watches the strange not-him as he smiles - as gravelsnap enters the frame. As vulturemask flickers across the background. As snailstride breezes by. They're not dead... They're not dead! he wants to shout - wants to call for them, wants to scream his relief to the heavens, but is jaw won't move - no sound comes out.
Instead the thing with his face turns to him as though noticing his struggle and it smirks, head tipping to the side in an eerie manner as it's jaws open wide and it speaks. 'This is what you could have. What you could be. Aren't you tired of being useless? Of being pathetic, of everyone hating you? Even your friends think you weak - wish you were dead. What use are things like morals in windclan? Don't you want to be free?"
And... He does. He's so tired of fighting it - of holding onto the guilt and the grief that claws at his heart and his chest. He wants to be normal - he's so tired of being the outcasts son the child of a traitor. He just... wants to be Periwinklepaw. Wants to become a warrior of windclan, and live his life. "i-i-i do" he mumbles before he can even realize it. "I-i'm so tired of th-this - i j-j-jjust - hng," he chokes out, tears dampening his cheeks as he frowns, forehead pressed to the ground as his nails tug at his scalp. "I w-want to hic be n-normal," He wants to be like them.
'Then just do it. What's the point of whining about what you can't have? Of holding onto silly wishes of childhood. Don't you want to protect them? Then do it. Stop running," The vision blurs, and periwinklebreeze can feel himself falling - down down down into the nothingness.
When he awakes, he can feel the tearstains dried to his face, but his body feels lighter. Clear gaze cracks open, slowly taking in the sunlight that filters through the ceiling of the medicine den. Keen ears pick up the idle chatter of his clanmates - hears their voices, their pawsteps, as they go about their lives. Not dead - just a nightmare.
But periwinklebreeze has found his resolve - and the boy that stands from his nest though frail in body is no longer frail in mind - determination steeling his heart and his mind. No more guilt - he is no longer going to merely survive, he wants to live, to be happy. No matter the cost.
CW: blood + death
backwritten; takes place the night after his warrior ceremony
[ "Somewhere inside this closet your whole life exists, an evil little secret that keeps you so nervous. You're boarding up your windows, in fetal on the floor - but what you're keeping out is on the wrong side of the door." ]
Labored breathing and the tap-tap-tapping of paws pounding upon the earth is the only sound in the otherwise silent night. Blood rushes loudly in his ears - every heartbeat battering his eardrums with its thump. It's all he can do to run - run run run! - as he feels the heat bearing down on his tail, on his spine, his neck - feels the monster creeping closer and closer, predator and prey. Paws snag on a felled branch with a loud clatter - sending him sprawling head over paws, bruises and scraps littering his frame and sending shooting pain through every limb. Jaws close around his tail - tugging him, pulling him, dragging him away. "No no no!" he flails about, panicking, but it's to late - blue eyes meet amber and as saliva splatters down upon him he knows it is over - he is as good as dead. He closes his eyes, nothing left but to accept his fate.
But the killing blow never comes.
One eye and then the other slowly crack open in confusion, startled. There is no fox bearing down upon him - no monster, no killer. Instead it is he who is bearing down upon a smaller frame - browns fur and blue eyes, a cub. No - not this again! As though his body has a mind f it's own he feels himself move forwards, goes for the kill - sees the fear and confusion in the creatures eyes as he sinks his teeth into it's throat. He can feel blood splatter upon his tongue with every sluggish heartbeat as it tries to flail about - one paw trapped, the other three unable to find purchase on his much taller frame. And then it's over - gone, dead. A lifeless little thing, eyes unblinking and glassy.
Pink tongue swipes at his lips, licking the blood clean - the metallic taste unmistakable. One ink stained paw comes to hover near his face - also damp. As he stares he realizes that the horror is... not gone, but muted. Why had he been so upset? Why had he cried over the death of something that would gladly have done the same to him if given the chance? He... doesn't know anymore.
He goes to turn away only to recoil in horror - no, that's not - that's impossible. It's no longer a fox that lay bloodied and lifeless at his paws but his mother - hyacinthbreath.The stomach churning sickness returns full force, paws scrambling backwards blindly in his terror. He- had he really? Was she- ?
He heaves and heaves, but all that comes up is blood - so much blood. He wants to scream, wants to cry, but the blood won't stop spilling - won't stop pouring out onto the ground, staining the ground and his paws and everything until there is only red.
Blue eyes snap open with a sharp gasp - lithe figure jolting to his paws - a wave of dizziness sending stars dancing across his vision. Confusion blurs his mind - he feels the press of a body against his own, and looks down to find familiar silver pelts beside him - impossible. Nightingale? Why is she here-?
Something is not right. The feeling of wrongness lingers upon his sleep addled mind, and it is then he realizes that it is cold - that she is cold. Not a single breath leaves her body, nothing left of her but an empty shell. He flees - but there is no escape. Bodies litter the camp, each and every one utterly silent, not a single sign of life left within. Not one soft breath, raised chest, flick of a tail - nothing. Not dazzle or azalea or snail or gravel or vulture or golden or shadow or sunflower or dust or-or-or- anyone. Nothing but their empty bodies laying slain upon the ground, blood upon their throats. Just like the fox.
He- he needs to go, to get away from whatever has done this to them. He turns to run - that's all he does, isn't it? - when he catches his reflection in the puddle and freezes. He feels as though he cannot look away from the sight that meets him. The figure in the water looks nothing like him - standing tall and proud, a bright grin on it's face. Blood stains is muzzle - splashes across his cheek, his chest - as though he has practically bathed in it. He can hear muffled noises... no, voices, and familiar ones at that. He watches the strange not-him as he smiles - as gravelsnap enters the frame. As vulturemask flickers across the background. As snailstride breezes by. They're not dead... They're not dead! he wants to shout - wants to call for them, wants to scream his relief to the heavens, but is jaw won't move - no sound comes out.
Instead the thing with his face turns to him as though noticing his struggle and it smirks, head tipping to the side in an eerie manner as it's jaws open wide and it speaks. 'This is what you could have. What you could be. Aren't you tired of being useless? Of being pathetic, of everyone hating you? Even your friends think you weak - wish you were dead. What use are things like morals in windclan? Don't you want to be free?"
And... He does. He's so tired of fighting it - of holding onto the guilt and the grief that claws at his heart and his chest. He wants to be normal - he's so tired of being the outcasts son the child of a traitor. He just... wants to be Periwinklepaw. Wants to become a warrior of windclan, and live his life. "i-i-i do" he mumbles before he can even realize it. "I-i'm so tired of th-this - i j-j-jjust - hng," he chokes out, tears dampening his cheeks as he frowns, forehead pressed to the ground as his nails tug at his scalp. "I w-want to hic be n-normal," He wants to be like them.
'Then just do it. What's the point of whining about what you can't have? Of holding onto silly wishes of childhood. Don't you want to protect them? Then do it. Stop running," The vision blurs, and periwinklebreeze can feel himself falling - down down down into the nothingness.
When he awakes, he can feel the tearstains dried to his face, but his body feels lighter. Clear gaze cracks open, slowly taking in the sunlight that filters through the ceiling of the medicine den. Keen ears pick up the idle chatter of his clanmates - hears their voices, their pawsteps, as they go about their lives. Not dead - just a nightmare.
But periwinklebreeze has found his resolve - and the boy that stands from his nest though frail in body is no longer frail in mind - determination steeling his heart and his mind. No more guilt - he is no longer going to merely survive, he wants to live, to be happy. No matter the cost.