WITHER. [VA]

[Rose]

Wither, little girl,
wither little foal.
Wither and die and decay.

Wither, little bird,
for in line you are third.
Not a word you have a right to say.

Not the heir,
forever the spare.
Cast aside,
until your eventual demise.

Seek your pleasures, chase your fantasies, but always remember the cost.

A shape forms in the darkness, memories unfolding.

---

“Again,” the snarl is a command, close to her ear, lime-green eyes flashing in the night, ivory fangs exposed. “And don’t slip this time.”

From too far off to the side, another set of lime-green eyes watch, swirling with mystery, with hidden sadness. Feelings and emotions she could never place, could never settle upon. She closed her eyes, and shifted her thoughts from the cat standing at the side, and envisioned the red target. So, so red. The crimson of blood. Everything stilled, and silence filled her mind. The feel of her breaths as they exited her nostrils, and the rising and falling of her chest helped her center herself.

Mother,
always knows best.
Show her,
pass every test.
Hear her,
voice in my head.

An exhale, and then she wastes no more time in striking, the force of her resolve for this to be over propelling her forward. The rest of that memory is a gruesome one, and she had foolishly thought she had overcome it. But it still filled her with bile, still made her want to throw up. Her eyes close.

---

And when they open again ... the scene has been replaced.

“I’ve found little pleasure in this boring life.” The old molly’s frame heaved with a rattling breath as she settled down against the floor.

Now her attention is drawn into a scene as a young female sits at the paws of a much older, blind cat. The former's ears are perked, tail curled protectively around her paws, the wound she'd gained on her forearm now a scab. Those shoulders held so much burden. A cat so young, weighted so heavy.

“Can I ask you something else?” The young grey feline asked, and when she was told by the blind elder to go on, she continued, her shoulders drooping. “There’s just one thing I want from you. Can you bury me?”

The real her, the one who watched from afar now, knew what would be said next. Knew it by heart - but the vision fades, replaced by another.

---

We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Memories rise unbidden— of pain, of loss, of a familiar face so beloved yet turned away. She places a paw against her throat until the rapid pulse steadies. ‘The past is in the mind,’ as her brother used to say. ‘Let it go. Let it be.’

‘The future is in the heart.’

A small figure, trembling and alone, shivers in an unknown forest. Pawsteps thunder around her, the laughing voice of a merry warrior accompanied by a grumbling apprentice. And then her hiding place is revealed, and swampy-green eyes stare down at her, before yelling for more cats.

It's suffocating, the sudden attention. Fear is a second-layer on her skin on her skinny body. But a kind voice, a kind face, and the scent of warm milk do wonders. And as she was swept away from her lonely world, all she knew to whisper was one thing. “Lost.” Her voice wobbled, but she refused to cry as the kind Queen swept her off the ground.

She had always been lost.

Lost at the start, and lost now.

---

She has almost withered away,

but now it is time to decay.