the pathetic loser - character development oneshot

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    Dust rolled in the wake as his body collided with the sandy pit of the junkyard. The breath knocked clean from the chambers of his chest, his eyes widened in shock from the force. Several moments passed by before he shakily got back onto his pads, however, the White NPC molly was already pinning him back down, a paw pressed into his throat, a grime-coated smile on her twisted muzzle.Miriam swatted her paw from his throat, only for her other to pin in it’s place, he winced as the pressure grew unbearable so he twisted and rabbit-kicked her stomach. Only for claws to meet with his shoulders and regain her position over him. He panted, a small whine escaping his muzzle as he staggered from the lifted weight. She was taunting him now, circling him, laughing at him. “Miriam the little Kitty pet, kitty pet, kitty kitty kitty boy. Nice name, faggot” she said in a sing-song snarl, Miriam winced.


    The dark russian blue crouched, blood dripping from every angle of his ruffled tattered pelt. His mouth hung open as he gasped. She only had a few scratches, disheartening the young tom. ‘i….i’m not meant for this…..I’m…..weak’ his quivering legs gave in. The crowd of rogues surrounding him laughed, the NPC attacker laughed in unison. He was a joke.

    Why can’t I win? He looked up into the sky, feeling streams of sweat and blood falling down his face and throat. Stinging his fresh wounds. Memories of his owner beating him senseless entered his mind, darkening his soul. Rough furless hand grabbing him by his scruff and throwing him into walls. That hand that smashed his face down into the couch, the hand that smacked his muzzle with a bone-crushing force that bloodied his nose.


    Who am I? he laid on his side panting now. the laughter and taunts becoming incoherent as he slipped into a trance. ‘Am I dying? wh….what was my purpose?’ I’m Miriam….a failure. He closed his eyes, though for some reason he rolled upward onto his belly. Opening his emerald hues though one was clouded and sightless, they both held determination. ‘I’m a nobody’ he winced as he pulled himself into a hunched-over stand. The white molly lifted her nose and laughed louder. “Kittypet want some more?! you’ll never fit in here. Bloodclan is better off with a rat in the ranks!” she howled. Limping, the young tom furrowed his brows and turned on his paws. Heading for the exit.


    Thunderous paws sounded from behind. The NPC attacker wasn’t finished with him, wished to carry out the show, wished to humiliate him that much more. Something snapped in the tom in this exact moment, the strength of the seven hells entering his hindquarters as he twisted around with the speed of a viper, launching himself upawards toward her neck. Ravenously did he hook his jaws around the top of her throat stifling her growl, flailing now as they fell back toward the ground and his jaws remained wrapped around her windpipe with a crushing force. He bit down harder, a weird sound coming from the molly’s widened muzzle, fighting for air, her amber eyes widened in fear and shock now. A growl escaped Miriam’s chest as he fought the aching in his jaw and bit down harder. With a sickening ‘scrush’ her windpipe closed in, and he pulled away from her. Having seen red, he stood now in shock with himself. As she lay twitching and flailing fighting for her life, it was only seconds before she lay still. The crowd was quiet.


    miriam's sub-tags

    ✦ ✧ ✦ Death was never pretty and death was never easy. Death hit like a truck if initiated by another, pain and death paw in paw as they claimed life after life. Bloodclan deaths were almost never easy; there were hardly ever peaceful deaths in the clan, most were due to fighting or illness, infections and claws taking more lives than old age could ever. Fights were almost as common as death in Bloodclan, so it was no surprise that Waspwing hadd witnessed the taunting calls of her clanmates aimed at Miriam.


    It was only a matter of time before the tom snapped. He lunged for the she-cat's throat, fangs sinking in and quickly finishing her off, no mercy in his hardened gaze as he let the limp form of the molly drop to the concrete, a sick thud sounding as her heavy carcass hit the pavement at the paws of the ex-kittypet. Waspwing couldn't help the tightening in her throat and the rolling of her stomach; the leader was still unaccustomed to death, no matter how many times she experienced it. The cats that had been egging the tormenting on had scurried off as soon as the look of death spread across the deceased molly's features.


    Waspwing approached, yellow eyes glued on the body for a solid moment before sliding over to Miriam, a myriad of emotions swimming in her gaze. "Do you feel better now?" There was a long list of questions on the leader's mind, but they were all things that a forest cat would've asked. Why did you kill her? Couldn't you have talked to her first? Miriam had done what a true Bloodclanner would've done, so Waspwing was going to react like how a true Bloodclanner should.

    He stood panting, limbs trembling, paws sticky with blood. He straightened himself up, his ears drooping in a wide’v’ from the lack of strength. Her blood coated him from his bottom jaw to his chest. His brows furrowed and his dark lips twisted backward into a wicked snarl. Emerald eyes glistening in rage. He hadn’t realized the crowd had been shuffling away awkwardly, murmuring to each-other. It was the effect when an ‘Under-dog’ actually made it to the top.


    He heard slow pawsteps from behind, he half-swiveled his head yet stared into the sand absently. His tremors coming rapidly now. Alas the feline approaching spoke, and hearing the words he allowed a long silence. His gaze returning to the corpse. What if she were a mother? I… killed her. I ended her life. she…no longer exists…because of me. Strange bouts of realizations hit him, a newfound pain lacing icy talons around his heart. Tearing into it without an ounce of mercy.


    Tears streamed down his cheek and he closed his eyes hard, lowering his head whilst shaking it in defeat. “No….but it can….one day” he finally spoke, his raspy tone soaked with regret he hoped that a new life full of such events would allow for him to grow accustomed to such things. “One day this won’t hurt this way…won’t it?….I’ll no longer feel this... regret…one day” he finally lifted his head, eyes hesitant to meet the Leader’s “I can tell by your name….you probably know of this....regret” he decoded Waspwing’s forest-clan former allegiance. Hoping to not offend her but perhaps shed some light on this new leader of his.


    miriam's sub-tags