TRIGGER WARNING! This post contains depictions of child abuse, violence, death/murder, eating disorders, blood, emetophobia, and general extreme emotional distress. Please continue with caution.
Active Purrk: Beefed Up.
Stumbling, staggering. His pawsteps were unsteady. Cold bit at the flesh beneath his fur. It felt as though it had been moons since he had last slept, the deprivation eating at his very being. The nightmares had only gotten worse once they had left WindClan. Every night. Every. Single. Night. They couldn’t escape from them. Mothflower had resorted to just staying awake, knowing that no matter what he did the nightmares would continue to plague him. He would be lucky to get even a few heartbeats of sleep without jolting awake with terror in his eyes. He hardly slept, he hardly ate. He had no care for food, eating just enough to survive and keep himself capable of fighting if need be. All he needed was his strength.
Wandering aimlessly, that was what he had been doing. For moons, he walked, traveling day and night in an endless search for his parents. So far, no sign of them had been found. Mothflower wasn’t even sure if they could find their parents. It had been so long, their hope dwindling every day that their parents went unfound.
Was there a goal to this? Enact his revenge, and then what? He didn’t belong in WindClan anymore. He didn’t belong anywhere. Mothflower was a useless warrior. Their entire presence was built on a lie. Would they even be remembered if they were to return? Whether he was in the Clan or not meant nothing. He hadn’t done anything to make himself a worthwhile warrior to keep around. Just a face in the crowd. A false identity, emotions hidden beneath the surface. None of them would care. None of them.
Did he miss them? No. Cowtuft, Lightningstorm, Goldenpaw… none of them mattered now. He was alone. This was how it was supposed to be. It was just as his father had told them- they would always be alone, a pathetic excuse of a cat. Nothing mattered. Mothflower- Moth, he didn’t deserve that warrior name- had to focus on himself. He had to get stronger, he had to be perfect. Emotions were worthless. Friendships were worthless. He was worthless. Worthless, worthless, worthless, worthless worthless worthlessworthlessworthlessworthlessworthless
Black spots dotted over Moth’s vision, their breathing becoming labored as they stumbled through the Outskirts. Scents bombarded their nostrils, sounds danced in their ears, their head was spinning spinning spinning. He was dizzy and he was nauseous and he felt his stomach churn as he continued forward. A lump formed in his throat like a scream begging to be let free. His claws tore at the ground beneath him with each step, heavy pawsteps raking at the dirt with little care for the damage left behind. Pale green eyes had darkened into a lifeless, apathetic glare, the light once there having faded long ago. Perhaps he had been alone for far too long, being left to his thoughts and allowing them to fester. But Moth didn’t care about that. They didn’t need anyone. They deserved the loneliness.
Where were they? He didn’t know. Aimlessly traveling, endlessly searching for a sign of his mother or father. Wherever they had gone, he would find them, and he would prove to them that he was strong. That the words his father had forced into his head were wrong, were lies. They could be perfect. They would be perfect. His parents had abandoned their only child when he needed them. His father had forced him to train while other kits slept in the nursery. Even now, as he trekked through the Outskirts, Moth could picture the disgust on his fathers face as he looked down on him. Disgusted at his very existence, for having had the unfortunate opportunity of being born. Moth hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t asked to be born, to be abandoned, to be treated in such a way. It infuriated him. Anger bubbled beneath their fur.
He was just a kit. What was he meant to do?
The scent of another breached his nose, causing a dazed Moth to look up. Their eyes narrowed at the sight of an orange pelt. The familiar sight of a fiery pelt had them stopping in their tracks. Was that…?
No, surely it wasn’t so easy. They were in the middle of nowhere. It couldn’t be as easy as this. Not after so long of searching. But even as they tried to reason with themself, Moth felt the rage boiling within them. It filled his very being, a comfortably uncomfortable feeling that he could only allow to take over. He was right there. It was so easy, so simple. He could prove his worth. He could prove he wasn’t some weak kit anymore. His jaw clenched, claws flexing into the ground.
Father.
Before he knew it, Moth was darting forward, bunching his muscles and leaping at the unsuspecting tom. His father spun around with a startled yowl, paws flailing in an attempt to defend himself. Claws caught Moth’s pelt but he paid them no mind, no care in the world for the pain or the blood seeping into cream fur. Nothing mattered. He needed to do this. He needed to win, to prove he wasn’t useless. He needed to make his father pay for all that he had done.
They fought back and forth, Moth using his size and strength to attempt to overpower the other. His vision blurred as he clawed wildly, aiming for anywhere his paws could reach. The scent of blood filled his nostrils, only encouraging him to keep going. He had to do this. He had to he had to he had to he had to he had to…
They didn’t stop until the cat had fallen limp, gurgling beneath him as the life faded from their eyes. It wasn’t until they had stopped twitching that Moth snapped from his frenzy, his breathing heavy and eyes widening at the sight before him. That wasn’t… no, no, he knew what he had seen, it was his father! It had to be!
It wasn’t.
Before him lay the lifeless, bleeding body of a loner. An innocent cat he had brutally murdered in his rage. He didn’t… he hadn’t… he hadn’t meant to hurt someone like this. No, no, they didn't deserve that. He didn’t even know who this cat was. They were just some loner attempting to go about their day, and he had murdered them. But he could have sworn…
Moth blinked, stumbling backwards until he was pressed against a tree. No, no, no, no, no, this wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. That was supposed to be his father! Panic rose in their chest, breathing becoming ragged and heavy. Their head spun, trying to make sense of the events. He looked down, seeing the blood that stained his paws. His stomach lurched and he gagged, coughing up what little was inside it. Moth was a murderer. He had murdered an innocent cat.
He had to… he had to get out of there. He had to get away. Far away. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t look at the body. He couldn’t face what he had done.
They ran. Tripping over their paws, they ran, desperate to escape the area and escape what they had done. He ran and ran and ran, blindly dashing in a random direction. He needed to get far away, he needed to go somewhere, anywhere but there. As they ran, they staggered into a bush. It scraped against their side, but they hardly noticed in their need to keep going.
So Moth disappeared further into the Outskirts, the only trace left behind being the bloody tuft of cream-colored fur that had been snagged on the bush… and the dead body drenched in their scent.
The Final: Mothflower.
