Post by hailkit on Mar 11, 2009 14:54:35 GMT -5
in his eyes everything was filled with beauty
[/font][/blockquote]
As it descended through tealclan's treetops and filtered through lofty leaves, the sunlight was captured behind the pale green (trickled with fainter blue bands) lenses of his eyes, like brilliant figures dancing upon translucent beams, and as the tom shifted to his other paw, he lifted his grassy gaze up at the ethereal skyline, the sweet cotton-blue color melting in with the pillowed-blue streaks of his eyes. The sun shone upon his pelt, the silver-blue outline (untouched by any darkened outlines) gleaming softly, as he leaned back on his sister, ivory ears flickering faintly and when he shifted, revealing faint silver bands present on all four legs, he felt his sister shift in unison with him. After a moment, his milky, soft-shelled paws shifted thoughtfully again and he tilted his head gently, still lost in the sunny smears streaming across the lighting dusk.
Beside him, his sister sighed heavily and shifted lazily, her own emerald eyes (perfectly matched with his own, with the exception of darker flickers of cobalt and streams of sapphire, where as his were flecked in flooding silver-blue strands) blinking against the twilight sky. She yawned sleepily, eyes soft with sleep and for a first time (he supposed she was too tired, too exhausted from the day spent frolicking through camp, making sure to annoy and play pranks on any cat who had looked at them strangely the day before [simply because she was in that type of mood today], and tussling behind the thorny nursery, soft-winged butterflies flying all around them) she was leaning against his supple kit-like muscles and leaner frame that was supplied with moonlit blurs and an ivory chest. He felt her gaze on him even as he looked away towards the mesmerizing skyline, his silver lips cracked into the soft smile they had grown so used to.
his thoughts were twirling, wandering, flickering. they were like imaginary hands that ghosted over each other, unable to grasp a real sense of what they wanted to focus on, and as the sunlight sifted through his lighter silver pelt - like the dark-shelled hail stones of his name - the cotton-blue streaks of his eyes hardened briefly -- though whether it was with pain and anger, bitterness and regret, or simply remorse and anguish of his linage - the history that he could not control- it was impossible to tell.
There were so many things he could be angry about -- his father's betrayal, his mother's lack of concern or that the lives before his own that were so deeply intertwined within each other, seemed so chaotic, like some silly soap opera that were sinful, yet pure, righteous yet false in moral.
There had been stories, he remembered -- stories that the elders reserved for them, who were just kits, in the dead of the night and no one else for fear of virgin ears listening upon the soiled deeds of their parents. He hated those stories, those tales that he wished were just lies built upon lies just like everything else seemed to be but he couldn't deny the truth in the words when old cats like Cindernose told him the story of his birth - as if was something could be riveted, admired even if they both knew it was not and could not be that way. Perhaps the elders had though themselves rightious and heroic in a sort of proud way by informing Hailkit and Sleetkit of their linage.
The way Hailkit had chosen to deal with things like this - the pain, the anguish, the confusion - was to block them out entirely, to a point that - at six moons - he couldn't remember them clearly. He knew his mother's scent - her warmth, her softness - from the time she was with them, but he could also recall her edge -- he thought of her with a certain angular harshness that seemed all too foreign. Her name? He couldn't remember.
The young tom cast a sideways glance at his dozing sister, almost wincing as if he imagined her smacking him on the head for forgetting their mother's name! She knew, she always knew.
His lips lifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping him and his shoulders slumped, milky-white chin coming into gentle contact with the dirt. Soft blue-flecked eyes fluttered closed as another rush of thoughts washed over him.
Glacierstone. Unlike with his mother, for whom Hailkit could only faintly recall comfort, milky scents and gentleness for, the young tom recognized his father's name, the pleasing roughness of his voice, the protectiveness of his touch, and his chiding words in which Sleetkit and himself would constantly skitter around, taking advantage of their mother's lack of responsibility to make sure that the father's orders - to stay in the nursery, to stay in camp, to be safe - were followed.
Perhaps that was why it hurt so much when he had discovered his father's - the one constant that he always thought he would have - betrayal with a stray loner, dark marble hues winding with blinding golden, and scarring the two kittens lives forever.
Yes, Hailkit had seen his father with someone else who was not his mother; and so, why did the elders feel as if they had to torture him, them, more by telling them false - but true - stories of their parents over and over again, like rubbing salt into an open wound?
The reason why they hated the way he masked everything up - covering all of mistakes like an innocent child does when's he's caught red-handed feeding food he doesn't want (peas, broccoli, carrots) to the dog under the table, tearing the tablecloth over his problems - with a mask of cheer, of love, of affection. Why was it so wrong to forget everything to a point that you could make yourself believe it didn't happen?
Because of Hailkit's shyness, his weariness, his reluctance to become anything more than he was.
A failure.
"no comment" -- finished?-- nine nine nine
