08-01-2016, 09:57 PM
i pretend to close my eyes;
i pretend i'm burning bright.
i pretend i'm burning bright.
God, it was cold in there. So cold, so cold, so cold, and wet. I do not like wet. Wet is slimy and sticky and gross and did I mention cold? Even out, wet is cold. Not colder, exactly, but a different kind of cold. One that blows past and tangles in hair instead of one that surrounds and smothers and muffles all the lovely warmth.
At least out, though. At least I am out.
I wobble and stagger, trying to stand. Trying to make legs cooperate when they’re so used to being confined inside the cold wet yuck. This freedom thing’s still pretty new, but I would like to try it out anyhow. So I get up. With a bit more difficulty than I’d like to admit, and a whole lot of falling on my face and my side and my butt. Eventually, though, I get it figured out. One foot, two foot, red foot, blue foot--no wait, that’s not right.
Three foot, four foot. Right.
I don’t have any blue anyhow, no wonder it wasn’t working. And my feet are black, it’s just my hair that’s red. Or my tail at least. It’s kind of hard to see, but I think maybe there’s red on the top of my neck too? I’d ask, but. Well.
The bearer of the cold wet yuck has yet to acknowledge me, not even to look at me. Or talk to me, or say anything at all even. Still, she’s the one with the food, I can smell it from here even. I take the few unsteady steps needed to close the distance between her and me, and nose at her flank, glancing up at her to see if...nope. Nothing, just standing there. Well. Okay, cool then. I duck under her leg and drink my fill, then lick more wet off my lips because get off me and also because my belly could probably use that last drop or two anyhow.
And then I curl up on the nice dry ground to sleep. And when I get cold, a few little sparks dance along my skin to keep me nice and cozy and warm.
When I wake up, my unresponsive dam has wandered off some, not bothering to wake me or wait for me or even really indicate that she’s noticed I’m here. I scramble to my feet, and chase after her the best I can, stumbling along the way and tumbling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and awkward, sticky, unkempt baby fur.
Ow. Oh, ow! My lower lip trembles, and my vision gets all blurry, and it hurts. My face, and my knee, and I’m dripping red and it hurts and owwww. “Momma?” Oh, and I don’t like the piteous little mew, or the wet that trickles down my cheek, or the more wet that’s creeping slowly down my leg. But she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look back at me. So I get up, and I limp toward her, my head hanging low.
I’m hungry again. But I have to wait ‘til she stops on her own before I can sneak more milk, and by then I’m at least tripping over myself less. Walking’s not so bad, really. Once you get used to it. I just feel like I’ve been walking my whoooole life, and I’m so tired, and--oh! I bump into my mother, who I guess got tired of walking. Before she can change her mind, I fill my belly up with milk again. And I want to curl up and sleep so bad, but if she wanders...away...again…
I jerk awake, and once again she has wandered off, but at least this time not so far. Sighing, I clamber to my feet and walk after her, not bothering to run and trip and fall on my dumb face again, thanks. Another game of chase, another full belly, and then...this time she falls asleep.
And I wander off.
Not that she’ll care.
Scruffy, sticky, still covered in the gross crusty remnants of the business of being born, with a scraped up knee and a scraped up cheek and a scraped up heart, I walk away. It’s dumb, I already know that before I’ve gone two sad little steps. But if she doesn’t want me around, well. I’ll find somebody who does. Or. At least someone who moves around less.
At least out, though. At least I am out.
I wobble and stagger, trying to stand. Trying to make legs cooperate when they’re so used to being confined inside the cold wet yuck. This freedom thing’s still pretty new, but I would like to try it out anyhow. So I get up. With a bit more difficulty than I’d like to admit, and a whole lot of falling on my face and my side and my butt. Eventually, though, I get it figured out. One foot, two foot, red foot, blue foot--no wait, that’s not right.
Three foot, four foot. Right.
I don’t have any blue anyhow, no wonder it wasn’t working. And my feet are black, it’s just my hair that’s red. Or my tail at least. It’s kind of hard to see, but I think maybe there’s red on the top of my neck too? I’d ask, but. Well.
The bearer of the cold wet yuck has yet to acknowledge me, not even to look at me. Or talk to me, or say anything at all even. Still, she’s the one with the food, I can smell it from here even. I take the few unsteady steps needed to close the distance between her and me, and nose at her flank, glancing up at her to see if...nope. Nothing, just standing there. Well. Okay, cool then. I duck under her leg and drink my fill, then lick more wet off my lips because get off me and also because my belly could probably use that last drop or two anyhow.
And then I curl up on the nice dry ground to sleep. And when I get cold, a few little sparks dance along my skin to keep me nice and cozy and warm.
When I wake up, my unresponsive dam has wandered off some, not bothering to wake me or wait for me or even really indicate that she’s noticed I’m here. I scramble to my feet, and chase after her the best I can, stumbling along the way and tumbling to the ground in a heap of tangled limbs and awkward, sticky, unkempt baby fur.
Ow. Oh, ow! My lower lip trembles, and my vision gets all blurry, and it hurts. My face, and my knee, and I’m dripping red and it hurts and owwww. “Momma?” Oh, and I don’t like the piteous little mew, or the wet that trickles down my cheek, or the more wet that’s creeping slowly down my leg. But she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even look back at me. So I get up, and I limp toward her, my head hanging low.
I’m hungry again. But I have to wait ‘til she stops on her own before I can sneak more milk, and by then I’m at least tripping over myself less. Walking’s not so bad, really. Once you get used to it. I just feel like I’ve been walking my whoooole life, and I’m so tired, and--oh! I bump into my mother, who I guess got tired of walking. Before she can change her mind, I fill my belly up with milk again. And I want to curl up and sleep so bad, but if she wanders...away...again…
I jerk awake, and once again she has wandered off, but at least this time not so far. Sighing, I clamber to my feet and walk after her, not bothering to run and trip and fall on my dumb face again, thanks. Another game of chase, another full belly, and then...this time she falls asleep.
And I wander off.
Not that she’ll care.
Scruffy, sticky, still covered in the gross crusty remnants of the business of being born, with a scraped up knee and a scraped up cheek and a scraped up heart, I walk away. It’s dumb, I already know that before I’ve gone two sad little steps. But if she doesn’t want me around, well. I’ll find somebody who does. Or. At least someone who moves around less.
@[Romek]