Death Kitten by Chance Prowlers

Death Kitten

Chance Prowlers, Cat, Death, Dog, Feline, Kitten, Kitty, Male, Supernatural, War

It's a thing. The song can be found here, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsGMgdPGy8Q&feature=related

"We will prevail! We are Order! WE ARE LAW!"

The explosion is followed by momentary deafness. The screams, the crying, I don't remember them well. We were kids, I was but fourteen. I look back and I think about the screams, who they sounded like, who I knew, and what was happening to them. At the time, all I could hear was their chant.

"We will prevail! We are Order! WE ARE LAW!"

The Dogs marched to that, with rifles and handguns, some with knifes. There was an army, but many joined because they were afraid. We Cats couldn't do that. We were the target. At the time I wasn't sure why. We had a next door neighbor who was married to a dog. They were a very nice couple, and let me and my little sisters go over and play on their porch swing. They were the first in the town... We found them hung on the train tracks by the river. I never saw their bodies, and I didn't go to their funeral. Mom and Dad, sorry, your great grandmother and grandfather did, but I wasn't allowed. I had to watch my sisters.

"It was the cats' faults" That man said on TV, I remember every time he was on TV, I got scared. "They control the banks; the banks have all the money. We dogs work hard, and they get all the money." When he was elected Emperor during Reconstruction, I remember momma cried. Dad said we would move, we would save up money, but they started taxing us cats, just because we existed. All our money went to affording our home. If you didn't pay the cat tax, you would get everything taken from you. And if you were a homeless Cat... We couldn't do that... We wouldn't have lived.

I ran down the street, to go between another set of buildings. I didn't look to my sides, but I heard screaming. It was the dogs, in their old tongue. The barking and the snarling, that made our ancestors climb trees in fear. I knew they had found me. I ran, and ran. I knocked over barrels, carts, I was near the shopping district. I did whatever I could to put distance from me and them, but they are made for it. There was a scared rumor, that the dogs could turn back into their ancestors, run on four legs to catch and rip the throats of cats. It was a stupid superstition.

The caught me, and I could tell from there uniform they were in the army. They weren't from the town. There would be no begging, or crying I was going to die. They said something, I don't remember what, and held me by my tail. I yowled and cried, and screamed. I had lost my father, my mother, my sisters. A couple of hours ago I wanted nothing to die, but now that they were there, talking about ways to kill me, all I could think about was what I would do for the lord if he let me live.

Then one of them fell, then another. The others started yelling, looking at their friends. "Sharpshooters" "Where!?" "Shit the kid's a decoy! He was luring us here!" They yelled, tried to run, but they all fell. I got up, looked around, but I saw no one. All I knew was they had died and I hadn't. No one came to brush me off, no one to protect me or lead me to safety. Those that saved me weren't coming to get me. They had gave me a second chance, I had to be better.

I searched the bodies, but I couldn't touch the guns. They were being used to kill my people, I would not touch one. I took food, money, even wallets.

Do you see that photo on the coffee table? The old black and white one. That dog was one of the men. That one I remember not yelling. Yes, yes.. That's a cat. His wife was a cat. I think he joined the army to protect her; some dogs who joined got a chance to ship their wives overseas. To this day I wish I had met her. Tell her that her husband died saving as many cats as he could. It would help her rest... I'm sure she's dead now.

I put the wallet in my pocket, with the money and the hard biscuits. It was tough. They called us thieves and pickpockets, and then took away all our jobs, made money impossible to get any honest way. They made us into their rumors.

I cried as I ran. I just robbed dead bodies, and all I could think of was the photo, of that dog crying, telling his wife to get as far away, he was doing this to protect her. I kept thinking that, over and over, trying to justify it. I only knew one way out of town that wasn't boarded, the railroad that went past the river. I couldn't swim. I didn't like to. But they had it closed. They had snipers. Still, I had a plan.

You see underneath was a small tunnel, I mean only a foot wide, to help support the train tracks. I was skinny enough by then that I could crawl through. No one would seem me.

I made it a few more blocks before shouting, then I heard a loud bang and a sharp pain in my head. I fell over and passed out.

I am the luckiest cat in the world. A shot to the head, and I lived. I woke up to two things. A pile of dead cats, around, on top, below, and the sound of a guitar. I didn't pay attention to it at first. I just pushed. I was almost on the top, and I was so weak, but the music was encouraging me, it pushed me, it sounded so great.

"When you've bungled all your bangles and your love ones have been mangled, listen to the jingle jangle of my gypsey tambourine. Cause these chords are hypnotizing and the whole world's harmonizing, so please children stop your crying and just sing along with me!"

That song was in my head, playing again, and again. And when I broke free from the bodies of the dead, there he was.

He wore all black, and played a guitar, singing that over and over. I could tell he was a cat, but I had to be crazy. Around him, were kittens, my age or younger. They wore white suits, white dresses. They danced around him in a circle. And it was so inviting. I saw my sisters, and they were laughing, and giggling, like they were in a meadow, and not in the middle of a warzone. I cried for them. I felt so happy. I wanted to dance. I wanted to join them, but when I got close, my sisters pushed me away.

"When you're rife with devastation there's a simple explanation: you're a toymakers creation trapped inside a crystal ball. And whichever way he tilts it know that we must be resilient. We won't let them break our spirits as we sing our silly song!" They sang. And the man stood, still strumming his guitar, playing. The kids followed him, and I did too. I followed, dancing. I'm sure if anyone had seen, they would have thought I had gone mad... And at the time, I thought I was. Bombs were going down, dead bodies in the streets, and I was dancing, blood on head from the bullet wound, and all I could do was sing. "When you've bungled all your bangles and your love ones have been mangled, listen to the jingle jangle of my gypsey tambourine. Cause these chords are hypnotizing and the whole world's harmonizing, so please children stop your crying and just sing along with me!"

I danced past a man, following my friends, my sisters. I knew they were dead. Was I hallucinating? Where they souls? I didn't know. I thought maybe the black cat in the center was death, playing his guitar for the dead, who laughed and played around him, free from the pain of this world. I think my sisters wouldn't let my join the circle, because if I did, I would join them, in whatever it may be. The man pointed to me, my wound. Screamed something about God punishing them, I sang the song of the reaper. I came from hell to curse them. They didn't hurt me, they didn't dare. I carried a message to them, a message from their God. They had committed a sin, and they were going to die.

I followed the cat, and the kittens, my sisters coaxing me as they sang. They used to sing so much. Thinking of their voices still brings tears to my eyes. I begged my father to let me take them, when the dogs were knocking down our door. He knew they were to slow. I would live by myself, but if I tried to take them, all three of us would die. I was pushed out the window, and I knew before I could get back inside my home, my father would have already let my sisters drink from his "special drink" and in a matter of moments, they would pass away. Momma always kept the vial attatched to her neck with a string. Always ready to take a swig if she was captured in the supermarket or outside. Some days I would give anything to go back, and stay. Take a drink with them. Get one last goodbye.. But then I never would have met your grandmother, and made your momma.

We made it to the train. I hadn't been paying attention to the road. Who knew who I passed on that path, singing my song? For all I know, I passed a heated battle, and they all stopped to hear my death song. When we reached the bridge, they stopped dancing in a circle, making a line, and like the pied piper death moved through the train tracks, the kids following. I saw Jason, Timothy. There were others there too, some were even pups, some I knew, some I didn't. I do not doubt for a second that these were children lost through war. They were finally happy.

We marched, danced, some of the kids would stop to try and tell jokes over the music. I felt so happy.

Then I was ordered to halt. The song stopped, the kids were gone, and so was the man. It was me on the train tracks, by myself, and ten dogs.

"Jay?"

"You know this one?"

Markus walked to the front of the group. A pup, one of my best friends. We were in the secret paws society. A little friendship club we made up. There were only five of us, super best friends. And three of the others were already dead.

He was a pup, they wanted to brain wash him, make him think they were right in killing us. He saw the blood on my head, could see the bullet wound. He asked what happened, and all I could think of was that song.

The dogs talked to me, tried to get me to admit I was in the wrong, so Markus would join them, believe in what they said. That there way was the right way. I knew from the moment they approached me, offered me candy, bandaging, even to go someplace safe. I had no doubt they would tell Markus they were taking me to a safe place, so his best friend wouldn't get hurt, probably tell him they don't hurt kittens or something, so he would grow up to be a fine soldier. I knew, of course, if they sent me anywhere it would be a gas chamber, if they didn't make me write a letter to him first to say how happy I was in my "new place".

"So what do you say, cat? Do you admit that you felines are the cause of this? Why we have to do this?"

I just stared at him, the music got louder. I didn't see Death, I didn't see the children, but I heard the music. I had to sing to it.

I would not listen. I would not admit they were right. They were hypnotized by a man, who knew exactly what to say to men who were hungry for war. I would not back down to them, I would not forgive them. I would never see their way. They were just like Markus. They weren't asking me for the sake of turning him, they wanted justification that all the war and death was for something. Did I look like I had money? Like I had some secret control of the banks? I was half starved, blood on my forehead, and singing like a loon.

They gave a gun to Markus, ordered me to beg him not to shoot, to show that I knew my place in the new society, under a canines boots. His hands were so shaky, and he was whimpering, crying, begging me to do what they said. He was just as afraid of them as I had been. And then I realized, half these men were scared. More than likely, they all were. Maybe they didn't want to do this, maybe they were just afraid of saying something and being killed alongside me. Then I thought no, I could not think like that. These monsters, they killed my friends, my family, and now they were going after Markus. I looked to him. I told him, all I had seen. All the death, the destruction. The man, Death. I told them all, and they were all scared. I had seen Death go through our town, collecting more pure souls to play for. They had brought hell to this town, and others. We would not bow down, we would not give up. Us cats may not be as strong, we may never unite, but we will not die. They wanted to see us as cancer to this country, they could. However, we would never go away. We will always be there.

They started to cry out, in anger and fear. They had doomed there selves. The cried, some called me a liar, some begged for my forgiveness. Those that called me a liar yelled at Markus. Shoot me, of be lynched for conspiring with cats. He didn't want to die. He raised the gun again. It was too big for him, he could barely hold it.

I sang, and then heard a loud BOOM, and this time, a pain in my arm. He had shot me. Maybe it was his fear; maybe he planned it, for whatever reason he hit me in the arm, still it was enough to make me fall off the train tracks, and into the water, where I managed to float to the top. And as soon as I hit the surface, I took a big gulp of air, and sang:

When you're rife with devastation there's a simple explanation: you're a toymakers creation trapped inside a crystal ball. And whichever way he tilts it know that we must be resilient. We won't let them break our spirits as we sing our silly song!

When you've bungled all your bangles and your love ones have been mangled, listen to the jingle jangle of my gypsey tambourine. Cause these chords are hypnotizing and the whole world's harmonizing, so please children stop your crying and just sing along with me!

They heard it, they knew I was alive, but they did not shoot for me. I heard one of them; say that I was the child of Death. I must be his messenger, an immortal angel. I don't know about that. All I know is I sang, over and over and over again. I sang till I couldn't anymore, my throat hurt too much. And even then, I hummed it. When I could do so no longer, I heard it, in my mind. It played over and over, but it was a happiness I hadn't felt since before the war. When uncle Spratz would bring us chocolates and we would purr and giggle and laugh. It was so happy.

I remember being dragged out of the water, and asked where I was from, what I was doing. A caravan had found me. They feed me, dressed me, and tended to my wounds. My arm was infected, thankfully they saved it. I joined them, wondering the country. We played outside town, as the cats and kittens fled. We hid, and played. The story of the wondering dead kitten passed throughout the State. And I would walk, around them, playing my song. The soldiers were to spooked to hurt me, the cats and kittens followed me to safety, to the edge of town. And soon my song was used by canines who wanted to help cats. They would sing it loud and proud outside their homes at nights, waiting to see if a cat would come to them, to be let inside their homes and fed and treated. A secret path while they tried to make it to another county. I dressed like him, got a guitar like his. Soon, I even forgot my name. When those of the Caravan had to address me, I was simply death kitten.

I made so many friends, helped so many people. I cannot recall all those I helped. Now memories are blurred, and their faces are obscured, but I still know the words to this song.

(The song is a real song, called Gypsy Bard, From Friendship is Witchcraft. I don't own it, just thought it fits.)

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