A maniac messiah |o, body on shore| Love for him is pain

He was a human decades ago, he lived quite a strenuous life during complicated, difficult times. Born and raised in poverty, son to an alcoholic father and a Jewish mother, he was a minority and considering his time and the rising of the Nazi party, it was not a minority that was safe to be a part in. His ethnicity, his religion and his identity shaped the way he saw the world, it formed how others perceived him.
Like his abusive father, he wound up a soldier, a medic upon the fields of Iwo Jima only to be captured and sent to the Germans to be tortured endlessly and constantly in a starving aching body that could barely keep itself upright.
his life was nothing but agony and it lead to his eventual demise.
However, he opened his eyes and found himself in the form of a coyote. The Lord above blessed him with another life and in that body he found the love of his life, in that body he got mangled and blinded, in that body he got addicted to Morphine, in that body he became a father.
Life wasn't something Attie held on to for long, so it seemed.

The man had been married. He had been happy, he was a deputy, a medic, a father, but here right now one would see him only as a man who had suffered.
The moose was washed ashore on Riverclan's beaches, his body cold and drenched, scarred up and thinned down to the bones. The velvet upon the form of his antlers were scratched up, red exposed where keratin revealed itself through the cracks in the vessel-filled flesh.
He was unconscious, his eyes close, his body sprawled as water lapped over his side.
Upon his throat, there was an incision, an old one. A diagonal cut over the right jugular.
A suicide attempt. It had gone wrong, however, the cervid came across a stranger who nursed him to health and after that he tried to rid himself of his life again. He threw himself off a cliff and landed in the sea below only to wind up here

A father, a deputy, a husband.
Why did he want to die? Why did he want to leave them all behind?
It was for there safety.
There was a disease within the mind of Atticus Hacksaw, it took over like a cancer but it was nothing physical, no, it was mental. Mental instability crept up on the veteran like a time bomb and it finally exploded.
The moose ended up experiencing delusions, temperament swings, unreasonable paranoia and violent tendencies.
He had assaulted a member of his own clan which resulted in his reasonable demotion of his rank as deputy, but then his health would get worse
He was haunted and tortured by hallucinations and distortions, he couldn't allow himself to hurt his children in paranoid panic, he couldn't hurt his husband.

So, Atticus left in hopes that solitude would cure him, but such thought was concluded as false. His health deteriorated more and more.
The moose fell into self destruction.
He bashed his rack wherever he could, leaving split branches and crunched bushes where he trampled in hopes of breaking the antlers from his skull and bash his cranium in for a quick death.
He kicked at himself in horrid panic every time a hallucinogenic episode struck the veteran, his forelegs were quite swollen from kicks and tramples he placed upon himself.
In delusional panic, Attie tried to end his life twice to stop suffering, to stop everything.
Feeling guilty, feeling pain, agony.
He didn't want to live like this.

But yet there he was upon Riverclan's borders, banged up and broken, barely conscious as the icy ocean water lapped up his sides, death slowly crawling it's way into his core but not quite.

//injury list: Bruised ribs, a few broken ribs, moderate concussion, infection at the cut on his throat, low blood volume, mild brain damage.

[center](c)trexgirl

A foreign voice reached his ears and a strange but yet familiar smell reached the moose's muzzle. He let out a low snort and a gasp for air before finally his lids flipped open to reveal dark olive eyes, the white's exposed in an air of panic. The gigantic scarred up cervid jerked only to fall limp once again, body obviously drained of energy, his core, although powerful, lacking it's strength.
Atticus was sick of being strong. He was sick of surviving only to suffer more. He hated this bitter selfish thoughts, he hated that he wanted to give up and to fade away. But death seemed so much better than losing himself forever, so, the moose would close his eyes again and murmur out a response in a hoarse, throaty tone.
"Jus' leave me. Please."
His voice was quiet, frail and choked up but even then his drawl was still carried in his words, maybe even amplified due to exhaustion.

[center](c)trexgirl