Post by Raven on May 8, 2007 8:28:04 GMT -5
Life is a paradise
Oooh yeah!
Evening shadows formed around the tabby and white tom. His green vision moved slowly across the lands. Clan cats; a disgrace to their code. Clan cats; a disgrace to what they called 'Starclan'. He continued to watch the surroundings. His tail low to the ground. The thunderpath lulled in silence. The only sound that was heard was screeching tires. Billy walked slowly across the street. All fear of the city life far behind him. He knew well enough cars would stop for him. A foolish bravery if you must, Billy rather thought it fun. He the sad tired tom that hated all. He even hated himself. That's why he took the risks. The sky had large clouds. Cats who tried to sleep here...Were pathetic. He yawned in complete boredom. "Can thee no' fin' a betta 'ome?" He muttered in disgust. His heavy accented voice booming yet soothing. He could speak without an accent. He just rather liked perfecting his accent.The scent of others came to his nose. Laughter rumbled in his throat. Ah, he was in bliss. There weren't many other cats around here. He strode toward the woods. Walking with slow thumps. Coming upon the meadow. The large tom sighted another cat. An older she-cat. Crysanthemum if he wasn't mistaken. "'Ello there miss. To wha' do thine owe the pleasantry?" His accent heavy again. He said softly looking at the golden brown cat. His green visors swept over the meadow. There was only one cat he could ever love, Icicle. She had been the cat of his dreams, strong, independent. She didn't need his love, she had given her love and expected nothing in return. Then he had left her. The main reason he hated himself. To leave a cat like that? Twas poetry fit for Shakespere. He sighed as memories of his lovely angel played in a loop."Doth thy fear thee's poetry? Or tis it thee's wish to keep thineself at bay?" He spoke in confusing words. His accent not helping. "Tis be thine curse thee doth wish? Many a demo' hath curse thine Bubblegum Billy. Tis thineself tha' prefers Billy" he added. His rounded ears held high to listen. He truley did wish to hear her lyrics and curse. Though wether he cared was undetermined. He didn't show any sign of emotion, didn't put on fake actions. She could very well not answer him. The scent of a bird and another cat hung in the air. He ignored them. Many cats came to speak with this loner. He was suprised clan cats didn't claim this land. He had never come here before. Billy didn't like open places. There weren't safe. His paw's itched in irritation. Could she take any longer to reply? His coat bristled slightly. Anxiety was getting to him. He ground his white fangs. Impatient to leave the wide and open meadow. How he despised two-legs. Them and their stupid monters. Them and their stupid words. Ah, twas a time like this he had left Icicle's daughter. The sun setting, winter slowly approaching. The emotionless bulk waited with the urge to run. To get away from the city. To return home, to be a kit again. To be in love with Icicle again. Atleast he wasn't being trained into a kittypet. If all he was good for was some two-leg kits entertainment, he'd rather die. No, Billy had a destiny. Otherwise he wouldn't be here today. No, Billy would have stayed in hell had the devil no purpose for him. He would have stayed unborn had none thought him worthy. Worthy of what? Murder, leadership, anything. He was just as worthy as the last cat. Summer had come so fast this year. Surely a sign for a bad winter. Though he could care less. His new-leaf gaze lingered on her face. Taking in the sheer beauty of her features. Twas but mere luck he had seen her. No he wasn't in love. Love was for good cats. Love was for cats with hope. Love came to those in need. Did he need anything? No. Did he hope for anything? No. Was he good? Of course not. He was just lucky. That's the only thing he needed; Luck. Stupid yes, but he didn't care. Luck was grand, luck was devious, luck was...magical. Like a song of broken hearts, the tune is magical, but the words bring it to life. You can't have a life without luck. Tis like a tune without words. You know the words, but you can never bring it to life like the singer can. Their voice soothes the soul, their anguish is what you feel. They completely understand you. Every cat has it's own tune, they just never put the words into it. Billy here never even thought about his song. But he knew the words, ah. Twas pure beauty in a world of pain and misery. Twas pure magic to hear someone sing your song. Twas pure pain to lie awake without them.
Lucky Love...
[/center]Oooh yeah!
Evening shadows formed around the tabby and white tom. His green vision moved slowly across the lands. Clan cats; a disgrace to their code. Clan cats; a disgrace to what they called 'Starclan'. He continued to watch the surroundings. His tail low to the ground. The thunderpath lulled in silence. The only sound that was heard was screeching tires. Billy walked slowly across the street. All fear of the city life far behind him. He knew well enough cars would stop for him. A foolish bravery if you must, Billy rather thought it fun. He the sad tired tom that hated all. He even hated himself. That's why he took the risks. The sky had large clouds. Cats who tried to sleep here...Were pathetic. He yawned in complete boredom. "Can thee no' fin' a betta 'ome?" He muttered in disgust. His heavy accented voice booming yet soothing. He could speak without an accent. He just rather liked perfecting his accent.The scent of others came to his nose. Laughter rumbled in his throat. Ah, he was in bliss. There weren't many other cats around here. He strode toward the woods. Walking with slow thumps. Coming upon the meadow. The large tom sighted another cat. An older she-cat. Crysanthemum if he wasn't mistaken. "'Ello there miss. To wha' do thine owe the pleasantry?" His accent heavy again. He said softly looking at the golden brown cat. His green visors swept over the meadow. There was only one cat he could ever love, Icicle. She had been the cat of his dreams, strong, independent. She didn't need his love, she had given her love and expected nothing in return. Then he had left her. The main reason he hated himself. To leave a cat like that? Twas poetry fit for Shakespere. He sighed as memories of his lovely angel played in a loop."Doth thy fear thee's poetry? Or tis it thee's wish to keep thineself at bay?" He spoke in confusing words. His accent not helping. "Tis be thine curse thee doth wish? Many a demo' hath curse thine Bubblegum Billy. Tis thineself tha' prefers Billy" he added. His rounded ears held high to listen. He truley did wish to hear her lyrics and curse. Though wether he cared was undetermined. He didn't show any sign of emotion, didn't put on fake actions. She could very well not answer him. The scent of a bird and another cat hung in the air. He ignored them. Many cats came to speak with this loner. He was suprised clan cats didn't claim this land. He had never come here before. Billy didn't like open places. There weren't safe. His paw's itched in irritation. Could she take any longer to reply? His coat bristled slightly. Anxiety was getting to him. He ground his white fangs. Impatient to leave the wide and open meadow. How he despised two-legs. Them and their stupid monters. Them and their stupid words. Ah, twas a time like this he had left Icicle's daughter. The sun setting, winter slowly approaching. The emotionless bulk waited with the urge to run. To get away from the city. To return home, to be a kit again. To be in love with Icicle again. Atleast he wasn't being trained into a kittypet. If all he was good for was some two-leg kits entertainment, he'd rather die. No, Billy had a destiny. Otherwise he wouldn't be here today. No, Billy would have stayed in hell had the devil no purpose for him. He would have stayed unborn had none thought him worthy. Worthy of what? Murder, leadership, anything. He was just as worthy as the last cat. Summer had come so fast this year. Surely a sign for a bad winter. Though he could care less. His new-leaf gaze lingered on her face. Taking in the sheer beauty of her features. Twas but mere luck he had seen her. No he wasn't in love. Love was for good cats. Love was for cats with hope. Love came to those in need. Did he need anything? No. Did he hope for anything? No. Was he good? Of course not. He was just lucky. That's the only thing he needed; Luck. Stupid yes, but he didn't care. Luck was grand, luck was devious, luck was...magical. Like a song of broken hearts, the tune is magical, but the words bring it to life. You can't have a life without luck. Tis like a tune without words. You know the words, but you can never bring it to life like the singer can. Their voice soothes the soul, their anguish is what you feel. They completely understand you. Every cat has it's own tune, they just never put the words into it. Billy here never even thought about his song. But he knew the words, ah. Twas pure beauty in a world of pain and misery. Twas pure magic to hear someone sing your song. Twas pure pain to lie awake without them.
Lucky Love...
