Post by » Sacrifice on Jun 6, 2009 20:48:50 GMT -5
There was no escaping anything, even when all of fate seemed to be with you. In the end, it really didn't matter, honestly. Everyone died, no matter how hard they tried to live forever. For some, it was more painful then others. And for some, it was the easiest thing ever. For this tortured soul, I could only wish that he had left to StarClan the easiest way possible. That all of his pain, all of his silent suffering, had been nothing more then just a story. Well, maybe it was, all lives are like a story, their endings like an American movie, everyone wins in the end. Yet, this story I am about to tell you, well, it is no happy ending. This is a tale of a tragic ending, to one of the most hopeful ones possible, one who only thought about what was right and wrong, and had tried to get along with everyone. It is always the good that die young, it is said. Well, that saying is a truth that, in this instance, is about to come true. Life, love, hope, where are they now, when they are the most needed, at a time of great need?
There was one, long, rough, cough, and suddenly, another patch of scarlet was obvious on the dry ground of DuskClan camp, as one warrior unknowingly warmed himself for the last time in the sun's golden glow. It was the time of dawn, when only a few things were up, and for the most part, everything was silent and peaceful. Only the coughs from the Medicine cat den were heard, and the clan had became so used to them over the moons, that nobody even bothered to stir in their nests. One could wonder what would go wrong on such a peaceful time of day, but not everything was as it seemed. The lone tom who sat at the edge of the camp was hiding something that nobody knew about. It wasn't the fact he was sick, no, everyone knew that. Rather, it was the fact of how bad he had it. On the outside, he appeared fine, aside from the dull look in his once brilliant amber eyes, and duller spotted pelt. Sandstrike of DuskClan had been doing all his duties, no matter the fact that every breath he took came more painful then the last, until, he had finally stopped, after having a mild attack. He had been lucky then, to be alive. It had happened for what seemed an eternity, which had only been a few moments, but every gasp for air had felt like it was his last one. On the solo hunting trip, the chance that he would die and never be found was strong, until someone stumbled over his bones. With his eyes closing as the pain grasped him once more, the mute warrior hadn't needed to try to keep silent, there was no way he would have ever been able to cry out in pain. Shuddering harshly, it had been almost like a blessing when his breath had suddenly reappeared, easing the burning ache in his chest, and allowing the warrior enough steps to get back to camp, where he had been seen by Twopaw and Cloudedspirit. It had taught him something though, and that was the fact there was no way he would ever be able to be a warrior again. Not with this sickness. That had struck an air of depression to the tom, and for a while, life had seemed reasonless. Until, he became mates with Rainbowpelt, his best friend. She was gone now though, to who knows where, and it was seemingly pointless to go on. Only by sheer determination he awoke every dawn.
Maybe though, he wasn't suppose to go on. As those rich eyes closed, the sun warming the pelt of the always cold Sandstrike, something similar to the pain he had felt in the forest suddenly seemed to attack him. Eyes flashing open in not only pain, but as well as fear, the spotted warrior made an attempt to get to Cloudedspirit, but only managed a pawstep before crashing to the dirt ground. Underweight from the sickness, there wasn't even a 'thud' sound as he hit the dirt, claws outstreched as he attempted to drag himself to the den, just a few mousetails away. There was no hope though, as every muscle in his body screamed for air that could not be found. As they grew more and more deprived of air, a twitching occured, all his muslces going haywire as they looked for what they could not find. Eyes wide with fear, Sandstrike panted heavily, trying to get that air, trying to go on although it seemed impossible to catch a breath of air.
And suddenly, he just stopped trying. Blood gushing from his face made vision impossible, and as soon as he had seen the blood, he had known it was impossible for one to go on. His lungs had burst it seemed, and now, as he lay drowning in his own blood, the only thing to do was go back to those memories he had always kept with him, to replay the good times, before all this sickness had happened, back when he had been a mere apprentice. They had been around when the pain had been too mcuh to bear, and even now, when everything had gone too numb for feeling, they appeared, as though offering a final comfort to the fallen warrior, as if saying things wouldn't be so bad in the future, when he was with the cats of the stars. That there was a reason for what was happening to him, even when it seemed that there was none. As painful as those memories were, they were welcomed as eagerly as the warrior could muster, as he desperatly tried to feel something, anything, before he went to join the ranks of StarClan. Anything, please. Sandstrike did not want to die feeling void of emotion.
The first memory that came to the warrior, was one that he hadn't seen in moons, the first memory he had ever had. His life was in flashbacks, just like they had always said it would be like. This one was of bittersweet, as it showed him the death of his parents as they played with him and his brother, having a great time, before the dogs came. Issuing the desperate plea for them to run, and never look back, his parents had turned to fight the dogs, each knowing that they would never come back. His younger brother had run, but Sandstrike had stayed behind, crouched in a tree, eyes transfixed in horror as he watched his parents being pulled apart, and then almost getting his throat torn out, muting the once vocal cat. Several moons later, he met up with his brother again, and for the time being, was as happy as he could be. Yet, those memories still haunted him, forcing the young cat to move on, forgetting the name he had once been deemed. Depression struck him, and things had little meaning. Until, he ran into his next memory, one of the best things he had ever found.
Death had nearly claimed him that moon, he lay washed up on the lake, pelt blending in with the sand, and almost overlooked by the group of rebels. It was one of the more observant ones that had found him, and nursed him back to health. Without her help, he would have died that night. With only a few moons in him, he was fast to become popular with the other cats, and earning the name of 'Sand,' relating to where they had found him. How long had he lived there, in peace, before life had turned for the worst once more? How long had he been happy, without the memories of what he had seen to haunt him every moment of his life? They had been his first real friends, and despite the fact he was mute, there was nothing that they hadn't done with each other. It was like a family, the first one he could really remember. All good things though, seemed to cause only more pain to the unlucky tom, and soon, they were to be seperated, and lost forever.
They had been in search of the clans, and only divided when there was a choice. Some wanted to go one way, the others another. Half had gone the right way, and the other half had never been seen again. In the end though, as they had made their way, all of the right half had perished, aside from Sand who had been leading the group. The storm was what had done it, most of the group sleeping in a tree while Sand had been on watch. It had been a dry storm, and the tree had caught fire in seconds. The screams of his friends had nearly driven Sand crazy as he had tried to save them, but having to run or be killed himself. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done, to watch his friends burn under the flames, and in a way, it was like he was being punished for something he couldn't understand. It was because of that, Sand had decided to travel alone once more, memories haunting him at night and day. Sleep had become something he had only heard about, and death would have been a blessing to the ragged, and worn tom.
It was then he had found the clans, on a freak accident, all he had been looking for was a bit of food, his frame ragged, skinny, and basically a walking skeleton. His pelt had hung on his frame, eyes sunken in, and everything had seemed to move faster then he could. It was that patrol that had saved him. Moving in a blind stupor, he had nearly fallen into a bog, but had been spared once more it seemed. After being taken back to camp, and finding a friend in the ashes of memory, it seemed like he was finally turning his life around again. Apprenticeship had been fun, and for the first time in too many moons, Sandpaw had found himself to be happy about what life had handed him. Memories had been pushed to the back of his mind, and he lived life as it came to him, without any regrets. Although he only really had one true friend, it was more then he would have ever asked for, to be loved by just one soul. There was no need for others, but there were others. Everyone in the clan was like family to him, and he had been happy.
And then, his life had gotten worse once more. He had been mated with his best friend Rainbowpelt. but now, she was gone. He had gotten the sickness, and although he had seemed to be fine to all around him, every day had been harder then the last. Memories had come back, ones he had tried so hard to forget, and sleep was lost again, making him even more ill then before. Every day had been a challenege, but he had held on, just hoping that his mate would come back. They were going to have kits, and how he had wanted to see some of his own blood running around camp, causing chaos to everyone. While he would have been stern, he would have also been laughing at the same time. To be whole had been something that would never happen, but being patched up wouldn't have been too bad for him. To be loved by someone was all he had ever strived for, all he had ever wanted. And now, when he had come so close to finally reaching it, everything had been stripped away from him with one fatal attack.
Pain glazing his eyes, not only from the final sickness, but also from the memories, a faint recollection came to him, right before the final death.
My name was Recollection, but I was also called Karma.
It all made sense to him now. He had been lucky throughout his life because of what he had done. Only now, all his luck had finally ran out, and with one last painful breath, the blood still pouring from him, Sandstrike left the world of the living.
It was all so cruel; that with the end of the sickness in sight, for him to die, just as hope was starting to climb once more, for fate to take off their mark on him. Maybe though, things would get better as he was going to see those who he had lost...
((Wow. My first post with 2000+ words. And to think it was a death post. How sad, yet awesome.))