Escape
A different place, a different time.
Maybe we could have been lovers.
Maybe it wouldn't have turned out this way.
Maybe we could have been happy.
Maybe I could have survived our fall...
Maybe we could have been lovers.
Maybe it wouldn't have turned out this way.
Maybe we could have been happy.
Maybe I could have survived our fall...
Crash! Something hits the wall in the kitchen, shattering into pieces. Words full of hatred are thrown around carelessly, looking for flesh and dreams to cut into. They're fighting again.
"Shut up you bitch!" The voice is loud, angry and the words are sharp, like the edge of a knife. I cringe as I hear the sound of someone's palm landing on someone else's cheek. Did they really need to fight so much?
Silence. Ears pressed back against my skull, knowing I shouldn't, I slowly slide off my bed and towards my bedroom door. Cautiously I peer out into the kitchen, not sure anymore if it was such a good idea to have chosen this room as my own. So often did they fight in the kitchen, that it almost made me wonder; were they trying to make me unhappy so I would leave?
The scene presented to me through the crack in my door is the same as it is every night. They stand there, glaring at each other and breathing hard. What were they waiting for? Were they expecting me to go out there and stand between them? No, they knew I wouldn't do that. I'm too much of a coward to do something so insane.
Just as I am about to turn back to my bed and my book, secure that they are just having another staring contest, he speaks.
"You…" His voice, so full of pent up anger and hatred, makes my ears press back against my skull as much as they can and my tail curl tightly around my right leg in fear. "You think that you are so great. You think, that just because you're the lord's daughter, you're better than everyone else." That's right; mama is the daughter of a lord. "Well guess what sugar, you're not! You don't live in a big fancy house on the hill anymore! You married a peasant and a peasant's wife is what you are!"
"Ha! I may have married the peasant, but I am still the lord's daughter!" My mother's voice quakes with her own anger, and another emotion that I can't quite place a finger on. What is it? Sadness? Fear? "You know I really wonder what possessed me to agree to elope with you! You're such a pig! You say that I can't do anything right! But what about you, huh?!" Scorn maybe? "You're the one that can't seem to find a job that pays well! Ha! You can't even make enough money to feed your family!"
After that last sentence, there is silence, heavy with tension and pent up emotions. But then, a low, guttural, almost feral growl. Who is that? My parents' fights had never gone this far before, and even though it was wrong, I am curious as to who is the one growling. Inching my door open a little wider, I glance at both of my parents. My mother is standing backed up against the counter, the fur of her tail standing on end, her ears pressed flat against her head and her brilliant blue eyes narrowed into thin slits. The emotions flashing on her face make no sense to me; why does she looked scared, nervous, and like she is getting ready to run for her life? The fight is over, isn't it?
But then I remember; no, of course it isn't over. Fear struggles and fights to make its presence more significant in my heart as I look at my father. He stands there, looking like he has just lost a fight with his tail hanging limp behind him and his ears drooping. And with his blonde mop of curls shadowing his face, I can't tell what his expression is, but, I don't need to see his face. I can hear the growl rumbling out of his chest like he is standing right next to me.
That growl, so full of his pent up hatred and anger, fills me with dread. It coats everything in the kitchen and even makes its way into my room; as if it is searching for something. It is as if the growl itself is a living being, searching for an outlet; searching for something to discharge all of its energy on. And the moment it reaches my mother, it clicks with me and I know. I know in my heart that she won't make it out of our house alive; I know that I will never see her again.
And, even knowing this, I can't make myself get up and go to stand between them. I am frozen in place with fear and can't seem to utter even a small sound; the fear has latched onto my vocal chords with a vice like grip. I can do nothing but sit and watch the final event unfold. And what a final event, filled with anger, hatred, fear, and sorrow as it is.
When my father finally looks up, he doesn't look like my father anymore. No, he looks like what most people call a feral. His canine teeth are even more pronounced, his eyes have a crazed look to them and his lips are set in a permanent snarl. Gripping my door tightly, I shiver with terror, knowing full well that if I don't make myself move, I too will die here tonight.
"Song," my mother suddenly says, startling me into looking at her. She is becoming a feral too, that wild, crazed look is creeping slowly across her face and her lips are struggling to form words. Once someone has turned feral, they will never again be able to speak and they are doomed to live a mostly primitive and primal life. "Get…" A growl slips past her lips as she struggles to hold off the change. "Get out of here. " She squeezes her eyes shut tight and grips the edge of the counter, a growl rumbling out of her chest as she grits her teeth, her fluffy tail swishing madly behind her. "Now."
Shocked, I watch her succumb to the intense feral change after she utters that last word. Why? Why had she done that? My mother had always been cold towards me, taking her anger about not ever having enough money to live the way she was raised out on me. And yet, here she was, telling me to get out of the house while I could.
Thump! The sound of two bodies colliding with each other brings me out of my reverie and forces me to look upon the scene in the kitchen. There, it looks like my parents are hugging in the middle of the kitchen. But anyone in our society can see that really they're trying to bite into the others' throat and land an instant killing blow. Hands with sharp fingernails claw at anything they can reach in their effort to gain control of the situation as growls and snarls mingle in the space between them. Their ears are pressed back against their skulls and their tails are lashing wildly behind them as they fight. And for a while, it seems an even match until the woman who used to be my mother suddenly slips up. One foot slips on the slick tile floor and she starts to fall backwards, snarling and clawing at the man above her.
That man, the man who used to be my father, takes this new chance and pounces on the falling woman. Grabbing her by her long black hair, he forces her back onto the floor; straddling her as he does so. And then, savagely, he yanks her head back, growling as he grabs her flailing arms with his free hand. Once he has her secured and unable to move beneath him, he utters a low, long growl and glares at her. For a long moment, they just glare at each other, as if they are communicating something without words. Then, as if they have come to some kind of understanding, he swiftly dips his head down and tears into the woman's throat, snarling in pleasure and satisfaction.
Her dying scream sends chills down my back and I can't help but cry out in horror. Why hadn't I taken her advice and left before all of this had happened? Why had I stayed and watched as my father killed my mother like some kind of rabid animal? What is wrong with me?!
"Grrraarr," jumbled sounds interrupt my train of thought and I suddenly realize that I have attracted his attention. Oh no.Quaking with fear, I slowly back away as he slowly rises from my mother's body, bits of flesh still hanging out of his mouth and bright red blood dripping down his chin in slow, thin tendrils.
For a while, we are both moving slowly; he advancing and me retreating. But then it seems that he cannot stand it anymore, and he rushes towards me, a thirst for carnage clear in his eyes. Screaming, I slam my door shut in his face and rush over to my window, struggling to open it so I can escape. Hopefully, that closed door will keep him busy for awhile; ferals usually aren't very smart after all.
A body crashes into the door as I push the window open and I flinch, knowing that he is trying everything he can to get to me. Fear still holding me in its vice like grip, I prepare to jump out the window, but pause when a thought strikes me. Where will I go if I get away? No one here likes those of mixed social statuses and most of the humans hate Silontia. So where would I, a Silontia with no place in our society, go? I glance at my creaking bedroom door as I try to think of somewhere, anywhere, I could go. But my mind fails me as the door finally gives way to a once familiar, snarling face.
As he rushes towards me, I release my grip on the window sill and lean out, feeling the wind rush past me as I plummet to the ground. You would think, that being part cat, I would land on my feet when falling from a sixth story apartment window, but no. I close my eyes as crash into the sidewalk below, coughing up blood as awareness fades and pain floods in, knowing that my chances of actually surviving that fall to be minimal at best and my chances of death to be tenfold. But even if I died, at least I would be safe from the life I would have lived.
"Shut up you bitch!" The voice is loud, angry and the words are sharp, like the edge of a knife. I cringe as I hear the sound of someone's palm landing on someone else's cheek. Did they really need to fight so much?
Silence. Ears pressed back against my skull, knowing I shouldn't, I slowly slide off my bed and towards my bedroom door. Cautiously I peer out into the kitchen, not sure anymore if it was such a good idea to have chosen this room as my own. So often did they fight in the kitchen, that it almost made me wonder; were they trying to make me unhappy so I would leave?
The scene presented to me through the crack in my door is the same as it is every night. They stand there, glaring at each other and breathing hard. What were they waiting for? Were they expecting me to go out there and stand between them? No, they knew I wouldn't do that. I'm too much of a coward to do something so insane.
Just as I am about to turn back to my bed and my book, secure that they are just having another staring contest, he speaks.
"You…" His voice, so full of pent up anger and hatred, makes my ears press back against my skull as much as they can and my tail curl tightly around my right leg in fear. "You think that you are so great. You think, that just because you're the lord's daughter, you're better than everyone else." That's right; mama is the daughter of a lord. "Well guess what sugar, you're not! You don't live in a big fancy house on the hill anymore! You married a peasant and a peasant's wife is what you are!"
"Ha! I may have married the peasant, but I am still the lord's daughter!" My mother's voice quakes with her own anger, and another emotion that I can't quite place a finger on. What is it? Sadness? Fear? "You know I really wonder what possessed me to agree to elope with you! You're such a pig! You say that I can't do anything right! But what about you, huh?!" Scorn maybe? "You're the one that can't seem to find a job that pays well! Ha! You can't even make enough money to feed your family!"
After that last sentence, there is silence, heavy with tension and pent up emotions. But then, a low, guttural, almost feral growl. Who is that? My parents' fights had never gone this far before, and even though it was wrong, I am curious as to who is the one growling. Inching my door open a little wider, I glance at both of my parents. My mother is standing backed up against the counter, the fur of her tail standing on end, her ears pressed flat against her head and her brilliant blue eyes narrowed into thin slits. The emotions flashing on her face make no sense to me; why does she looked scared, nervous, and like she is getting ready to run for her life? The fight is over, isn't it?
But then I remember; no, of course it isn't over. Fear struggles and fights to make its presence more significant in my heart as I look at my father. He stands there, looking like he has just lost a fight with his tail hanging limp behind him and his ears drooping. And with his blonde mop of curls shadowing his face, I can't tell what his expression is, but, I don't need to see his face. I can hear the growl rumbling out of his chest like he is standing right next to me.
That growl, so full of his pent up hatred and anger, fills me with dread. It coats everything in the kitchen and even makes its way into my room; as if it is searching for something. It is as if the growl itself is a living being, searching for an outlet; searching for something to discharge all of its energy on. And the moment it reaches my mother, it clicks with me and I know. I know in my heart that she won't make it out of our house alive; I know that I will never see her again.
And, even knowing this, I can't make myself get up and go to stand between them. I am frozen in place with fear and can't seem to utter even a small sound; the fear has latched onto my vocal chords with a vice like grip. I can do nothing but sit and watch the final event unfold. And what a final event, filled with anger, hatred, fear, and sorrow as it is.
When my father finally looks up, he doesn't look like my father anymore. No, he looks like what most people call a feral. His canine teeth are even more pronounced, his eyes have a crazed look to them and his lips are set in a permanent snarl. Gripping my door tightly, I shiver with terror, knowing full well that if I don't make myself move, I too will die here tonight.
"Song," my mother suddenly says, startling me into looking at her. She is becoming a feral too, that wild, crazed look is creeping slowly across her face and her lips are struggling to form words. Once someone has turned feral, they will never again be able to speak and they are doomed to live a mostly primitive and primal life. "Get…" A growl slips past her lips as she struggles to hold off the change. "Get out of here. " She squeezes her eyes shut tight and grips the edge of the counter, a growl rumbling out of her chest as she grits her teeth, her fluffy tail swishing madly behind her. "Now."
Shocked, I watch her succumb to the intense feral change after she utters that last word. Why? Why had she done that? My mother had always been cold towards me, taking her anger about not ever having enough money to live the way she was raised out on me. And yet, here she was, telling me to get out of the house while I could.
Thump! The sound of two bodies colliding with each other brings me out of my reverie and forces me to look upon the scene in the kitchen. There, it looks like my parents are hugging in the middle of the kitchen. But anyone in our society can see that really they're trying to bite into the others' throat and land an instant killing blow. Hands with sharp fingernails claw at anything they can reach in their effort to gain control of the situation as growls and snarls mingle in the space between them. Their ears are pressed back against their skulls and their tails are lashing wildly behind them as they fight. And for a while, it seems an even match until the woman who used to be my mother suddenly slips up. One foot slips on the slick tile floor and she starts to fall backwards, snarling and clawing at the man above her.
That man, the man who used to be my father, takes this new chance and pounces on the falling woman. Grabbing her by her long black hair, he forces her back onto the floor; straddling her as he does so. And then, savagely, he yanks her head back, growling as he grabs her flailing arms with his free hand. Once he has her secured and unable to move beneath him, he utters a low, long growl and glares at her. For a long moment, they just glare at each other, as if they are communicating something without words. Then, as if they have come to some kind of understanding, he swiftly dips his head down and tears into the woman's throat, snarling in pleasure and satisfaction.
Her dying scream sends chills down my back and I can't help but cry out in horror. Why hadn't I taken her advice and left before all of this had happened? Why had I stayed and watched as my father killed my mother like some kind of rabid animal? What is wrong with me?!
"Grrraarr," jumbled sounds interrupt my train of thought and I suddenly realize that I have attracted his attention. Oh no.Quaking with fear, I slowly back away as he slowly rises from my mother's body, bits of flesh still hanging out of his mouth and bright red blood dripping down his chin in slow, thin tendrils.
For a while, we are both moving slowly; he advancing and me retreating. But then it seems that he cannot stand it anymore, and he rushes towards me, a thirst for carnage clear in his eyes. Screaming, I slam my door shut in his face and rush over to my window, struggling to open it so I can escape. Hopefully, that closed door will keep him busy for awhile; ferals usually aren't very smart after all.
A body crashes into the door as I push the window open and I flinch, knowing that he is trying everything he can to get to me. Fear still holding me in its vice like grip, I prepare to jump out the window, but pause when a thought strikes me. Where will I go if I get away? No one here likes those of mixed social statuses and most of the humans hate Silontia. So where would I, a Silontia with no place in our society, go? I glance at my creaking bedroom door as I try to think of somewhere, anywhere, I could go. But my mind fails me as the door finally gives way to a once familiar, snarling face.
As he rushes towards me, I release my grip on the window sill and lean out, feeling the wind rush past me as I plummet to the ground. You would think, that being part cat, I would land on my feet when falling from a sixth story apartment window, but no. I close my eyes as crash into the sidewalk below, coughing up blood as awareness fades and pain floods in, knowing that my chances of actually surviving that fall to be minimal at best and my chances of death to be tenfold. But even if I died, at least I would be safe from the life I would have lived.