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The sky was was red in the month of songs, when I laid him to rest in his cairn of stones up on the hill. His ghost was my constant companion. I saw him everywhere as I sat useless in my hut, empty bottles piling up around my feet.
Orange skies heralded the month of dreams, hearthfire flickering. I drank much and ate little, spending the majority of my time in the sour-smelling oblivion of my dreams. I woke one day sobbing for reasons that I could not remember, tears streaming down my gaunt cheeks to pool in my ears and leave saltwater tracks in my beard. I left my hut in a delirious haze, cursing the sunlight that burned my eyes and skin as I made my way up the hill to his cairn, bottle in hand, where I screamed at his grave and cursed his name until my voice went hoarse. Why did you leave?? How could you leave me alone??
The fields were yellow in the month of waning. I was waning, too, rotting from the inside. I did not scream anymore. I did not speak. I was a ghost clad in rags and reeking of alcohol and desperation. I wished for my life to end every day, but cowardly Death never came to ferry me away. I stopped visiting his cairn.
Green in the month of renewal. Somehow, I had survived the winter. Honeysuckle vines sprang from the ground to garland his grave, scenting the breeze with such sweet perfume that I could smell them even from the bottom of the hill. And still, I did not ascend the hill. One day, I woke to an immense pressure on my chest. I suspected that my heart had finally broken, that Death had come for me, but when I opened my eyes, I found not sickle-scythed Death but a slip of a cat standing on my chest, glaring down at me with emerald eyes. How it could stand the stench of my breath, I did not know, but a moment later, it jumped up onto the open windowsill, stretched, and meowed loudly and irritatingly until I fumbled out of my blankets and blearily poured a bowl of water, which I foolishly set atop the windowsill.
The cat sniffed at it derisively, tipped it over with a paw, and jumped out the window again. It returned again the following evening, waking me with its loud purring and the host of prickly green burrs it had accumulated in the long fur of its tail. I spent the evening awake, blearily stirring a pot of stew for my rumbling belly and nursing the new cuts I had on my hand, whilst the cat sat grooming itself on the rug by the hearth, picking the burrs from its sleek black fur.
Blue in the month of bounty, clear skies over the blue-fir mountains, and I still drew breath. The bottles that had once crowded the floor and shelves had disappeared one day several weeks past after the green-eyed cat had made a game of knocking everything it could off of the shelves in a gambit to wake me from my alcohol-induced stupor. I had cursed at it, loudly, received only a disdainful ear flick in answer, then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up shards of shattered glass and glowering at the creature vainly sunning itself on top of my bed. Indeed, the hut looked halfway habitable again. The next day, I had spent well over an hour peering into a mirror as I painstakingly trimmed back the wild bristles of my beard and mustache, treating my hair to a brusque trim.
The cat, lounging in my blankets, did not so much as bat an eye as I shrugged on my coat and went out the door. The three mile walk to the village at the base of the foothills seemed much longer than I remembered. My legs burned. Sweat trickled down my back. I made it back to the hut shortly after dusk, soaked in sweat from carrying the provisions I'd purchased from the village's butchery, and after dumping them in their correct places, locking the salt pork in the cabinet where the cat could not gnaw on it, collapsed into bed and fell soundly asleep. I dreamed that night of walking up the hill to the cairn, where the climbing honeysuckle had been joined by wild irises and forget-me-nots that had grown up between the crevices in the stones. The dream shifted. I danced on the cobblestones with my lover, who had a forget-me-not tucked behind his ear - the same color as his laughing eyes.
Purple in the month of twilight, a palace of dusk hanging heavy over the dreamy fields. My trips to the village had grown in frequency. The overhang in the back of the hut was now stocked with a tidy supply of wood, the interior swept clean and free of bottles. I cooked semi-regularly, had planted some vegetables in the garden out back, and had managed to work out a trade where a boy delivered a jar of fresh milk to a box by the door every couple of days in exchange for a small sum of money. The milk was more for the cat than myself. The dreadful animal had started to put on some weight, belly swaying gently as it stalked birds out in the garden.
The once-barren hilltop was now crowned with a neat ring of irises and forget-me-nots. I'd purchased the seeds for an outlandish price from a farmer who grew flowers for her clientele in the city and spent an afternoon after rainfall planting them in a ring in the damp earth around the cairn. As the flowers grew, spreading a bluish-purple haze across the ground, I slowly began to make the climb with more frequency.
The sky was red again. It had been a year since his death, and I found that I missed his ghost. I was not sure when exactly it had left me, but I found myself grieving his absence anew as I sat by the cairn, watching the cat slink between the flowers, golden pollen smeared in its dark fur. I think that I fell asleep like that, my head pillowed against the rough-hewn stones now overgrown with moss and climbing vines. I was no longer there at the cairn that housed his bones, but a hundred miles away in the city where we'd met. I thrashed myself awake as the bombs began to fall again, but the countryside was as dark and quiet as it always was.
As it turned out, the extra weight that the cat had put on around the middle had not been from milk but the litter of kittens that had been growing inside of her, those past two months.
There were four of them, one jet black and green-eyed like her mother, the other three a motley riot of orange and calico. I spent most of the next two weeks sleeping in the chair by the fire. The cat and her brood had taken over my bed and I simply did not have the heart to move them.
And so the weeks passed. The kittens grew at an alarming rate, always underfoot, but there was something about the constant racket they brought with them that soothed the war I hadn't even realized had still been raging in my mind. I grieved, still, but I no longer found myself consumed by despair for days at a time as I had been before. My broken heart was mending, scarred and jagged, yes, but starting to heal - and it was all because of the sly little creature that had appeared on my windowsill that day, bringing chaos and color back into my life.
Authors Note: I've been in a pretty bad mental place recently. There's a lot going on in the world and in my country that I do not have the power to change, so much disgusting bigotry, corruption, and cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and it's left me feeling bereft of hope and power many nights. I don't know what I would do without my amazing partner - or my cats. Sometimes they're the only thing that make me feel better. I'm just so grateful to have them in my life. So yeah. This one's for the cats <3
Orange skies heralded the month of dreams, hearthfire flickering. I drank much and ate little, spending the majority of my time in the sour-smelling oblivion of my dreams. I woke one day sobbing for reasons that I could not remember, tears streaming down my gaunt cheeks to pool in my ears and leave saltwater tracks in my beard. I left my hut in a delirious haze, cursing the sunlight that burned my eyes and skin as I made my way up the hill to his cairn, bottle in hand, where I screamed at his grave and cursed his name until my voice went hoarse. Why did you leave?? How could you leave me alone??
The fields were yellow in the month of waning. I was waning, too, rotting from the inside. I did not scream anymore. I did not speak. I was a ghost clad in rags and reeking of alcohol and desperation. I wished for my life to end every day, but cowardly Death never came to ferry me away. I stopped visiting his cairn.
Green in the month of renewal. Somehow, I had survived the winter. Honeysuckle vines sprang from the ground to garland his grave, scenting the breeze with such sweet perfume that I could smell them even from the bottom of the hill. And still, I did not ascend the hill. One day, I woke to an immense pressure on my chest. I suspected that my heart had finally broken, that Death had come for me, but when I opened my eyes, I found not sickle-scythed Death but a slip of a cat standing on my chest, glaring down at me with emerald eyes. How it could stand the stench of my breath, I did not know, but a moment later, it jumped up onto the open windowsill, stretched, and meowed loudly and irritatingly until I fumbled out of my blankets and blearily poured a bowl of water, which I foolishly set atop the windowsill.
The cat sniffed at it derisively, tipped it over with a paw, and jumped out the window again. It returned again the following evening, waking me with its loud purring and the host of prickly green burrs it had accumulated in the long fur of its tail. I spent the evening awake, blearily stirring a pot of stew for my rumbling belly and nursing the new cuts I had on my hand, whilst the cat sat grooming itself on the rug by the hearth, picking the burrs from its sleek black fur.
Blue in the month of bounty, clear skies over the blue-fir mountains, and I still drew breath. The bottles that had once crowded the floor and shelves had disappeared one day several weeks past after the green-eyed cat had made a game of knocking everything it could off of the shelves in a gambit to wake me from my alcohol-induced stupor. I had cursed at it, loudly, received only a disdainful ear flick in answer, then spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up shards of shattered glass and glowering at the creature vainly sunning itself on top of my bed. Indeed, the hut looked halfway habitable again. The next day, I had spent well over an hour peering into a mirror as I painstakingly trimmed back the wild bristles of my beard and mustache, treating my hair to a brusque trim.
The cat, lounging in my blankets, did not so much as bat an eye as I shrugged on my coat and went out the door. The three mile walk to the village at the base of the foothills seemed much longer than I remembered. My legs burned. Sweat trickled down my back. I made it back to the hut shortly after dusk, soaked in sweat from carrying the provisions I'd purchased from the village's butchery, and after dumping them in their correct places, locking the salt pork in the cabinet where the cat could not gnaw on it, collapsed into bed and fell soundly asleep. I dreamed that night of walking up the hill to the cairn, where the climbing honeysuckle had been joined by wild irises and forget-me-nots that had grown up between the crevices in the stones. The dream shifted. I danced on the cobblestones with my lover, who had a forget-me-not tucked behind his ear - the same color as his laughing eyes.
Purple in the month of twilight, a palace of dusk hanging heavy over the dreamy fields. My trips to the village had grown in frequency. The overhang in the back of the hut was now stocked with a tidy supply of wood, the interior swept clean and free of bottles. I cooked semi-regularly, had planted some vegetables in the garden out back, and had managed to work out a trade where a boy delivered a jar of fresh milk to a box by the door every couple of days in exchange for a small sum of money. The milk was more for the cat than myself. The dreadful animal had started to put on some weight, belly swaying gently as it stalked birds out in the garden.
The once-barren hilltop was now crowned with a neat ring of irises and forget-me-nots. I'd purchased the seeds for an outlandish price from a farmer who grew flowers for her clientele in the city and spent an afternoon after rainfall planting them in a ring in the damp earth around the cairn. As the flowers grew, spreading a bluish-purple haze across the ground, I slowly began to make the climb with more frequency.
The sky was red again. It had been a year since his death, and I found that I missed his ghost. I was not sure when exactly it had left me, but I found myself grieving his absence anew as I sat by the cairn, watching the cat slink between the flowers, golden pollen smeared in its dark fur. I think that I fell asleep like that, my head pillowed against the rough-hewn stones now overgrown with moss and climbing vines. I was no longer there at the cairn that housed his bones, but a hundred miles away in the city where we'd met. I thrashed myself awake as the bombs began to fall again, but the countryside was as dark and quiet as it always was.
As it turned out, the extra weight that the cat had put on around the middle had not been from milk but the litter of kittens that had been growing inside of her, those past two months.
There were four of them, one jet black and green-eyed like her mother, the other three a motley riot of orange and calico. I spent most of the next two weeks sleeping in the chair by the fire. The cat and her brood had taken over my bed and I simply did not have the heart to move them.
And so the weeks passed. The kittens grew at an alarming rate, always underfoot, but there was something about the constant racket they brought with them that soothed the war I hadn't even realized had still been raging in my mind. I grieved, still, but I no longer found myself consumed by despair for days at a time as I had been before. My broken heart was mending, scarred and jagged, yes, but starting to heal - and it was all because of the sly little creature that had appeared on my windowsill that day, bringing chaos and color back into my life.
Authors Note: I've been in a pretty bad mental place recently. There's a lot going on in the world and in my country that I do not have the power to change, so much disgusting bigotry, corruption, and cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and it's left me feeling bereft of hope and power many nights. I don't know what I would do without my amazing partner - or my cats. Sometimes they're the only thing that make me feel better. I'm just so grateful to have them in my life. So yeah. This one's for the cats <3
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