Mika Whitepaws (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2015-06-09 12:25 pm
wolfishsurvivalist) wrote2015-06-09 12:25 pm
Entry tags:
✖ Take Me Home ✖
"Mika, you need sleep. Get down from there and go lie down before you faint." The hands that had once seemed so large and safe were now batted away with a sound that could almost be considered a scream of frustration.
"No! I'm not done yet!" Voice trembling and heavy with tears, and turned back to the canvas with renewed fervor. Paint stained her hands, her clothes, even her face and fur from where she'd been careless and scratched itches or pushed her hair out of her eyes. Heart hammering loud enough it was all she could hear, she was lost in the colors, trying desperately to hold on to something that was quickly slipping through her fingers. The first day she'd woken up screaming in horror, and since then she'd been painting or writing, trying desperately not to forget things she knew she was losing faster than she could hold on to.
"Cub, you haven't slept or eaten in days. If you don't come down I will pull you down myself." The growled warning was ignored, focused wholly on the face in front of her. The eyes were wrong, she knew. The light in them was impossible to capture, the happiness in the smile was a fleeting shadow of what it should have been. What it needed to be. The paints she had couldn't even begin to compare to the shimmer of gilded freckles or jewel-like scales. Half of her wanted to scream in anger and rip the canvas to shreds, while the other hung on desperately, clinging to the frame and willing it to life with every fiber of her being.
When she was pulled down from her perch she howled and screamed in anger and dismay, still reaching for her paintbrush when she was carried from the room and forced to scrub the acrylic away. There was no way to get it all out, her claws had been tinted with the colors of a field of wildflowers that she could almost smell. The blues of a clear sky so vast and yet so very small, pastel stains the color of tiny wayward animals. She could almost hear the laughter on the breeze and it hurt her so deeply that it was all she could do to hold on to the edge of the sink and cry, the sound so desperate and broken that her father had to lift her and carry her to bed, holding her until she exhausted herself and fell into a fitful sleep.
In her dreams she saw it properly then, sunlight on a grassy plain and glittering pond that gave way to a sky full of ruby stars, and in her heart she was where she belonged.
"No! I'm not done yet!" Voice trembling and heavy with tears, and turned back to the canvas with renewed fervor. Paint stained her hands, her clothes, even her face and fur from where she'd been careless and scratched itches or pushed her hair out of her eyes. Heart hammering loud enough it was all she could hear, she was lost in the colors, trying desperately to hold on to something that was quickly slipping through her fingers. The first day she'd woken up screaming in horror, and since then she'd been painting or writing, trying desperately not to forget things she knew she was losing faster than she could hold on to.
"Cub, you haven't slept or eaten in days. If you don't come down I will pull you down myself." The growled warning was ignored, focused wholly on the face in front of her. The eyes were wrong, she knew. The light in them was impossible to capture, the happiness in the smile was a fleeting shadow of what it should have been. What it needed to be. The paints she had couldn't even begin to compare to the shimmer of gilded freckles or jewel-like scales. Half of her wanted to scream in anger and rip the canvas to shreds, while the other hung on desperately, clinging to the frame and willing it to life with every fiber of her being.
When she was pulled down from her perch she howled and screamed in anger and dismay, still reaching for her paintbrush when she was carried from the room and forced to scrub the acrylic away. There was no way to get it all out, her claws had been tinted with the colors of a field of wildflowers that she could almost smell. The blues of a clear sky so vast and yet so very small, pastel stains the color of tiny wayward animals. She could almost hear the laughter on the breeze and it hurt her so deeply that it was all she could do to hold on to the edge of the sink and cry, the sound so desperate and broken that her father had to lift her and carry her to bed, holding her until she exhausted herself and fell into a fitful sleep.
In her dreams she saw it properly then, sunlight on a grassy plain and glittering pond that gave way to a sky full of ruby stars, and in her heart she was where she belonged.