|Blood Stained Red Lane
Author: Lavender Town Massacre PM
Sierra Cautica is always bullied at her school for being creepy, different, and having a strange obssesion with cats. One day a silver wolf with red eyes says that he not only can he show the ones who trouble her just how dangerous cats can be but also how dangerous they can be to her and to each other. Idk think Warriors meets Elfen Lied meets Black Butler meets Willard.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Crime - Words: 1,613 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 10-10-12 - id: 3064631
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Prologue: The Lane, Forsaken:
His scratched, bloody paws dragged himself across the gravelled road. Blood dripped from where his claws had been, from his matted side, and his horrible wounded back legs, causing a dotted crimson trail behind him. For some odd,and very inappropriate reason, the grisly path reminded him of a verse from a song he had heard on Sierra's confusing device know only to him as the iPod.
'There's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home.'
Ah, yes it was from Life is Beautiful. Heh, he had always liked that song. He liked the slow version better than the rock version. He had always wanted a slow, laid back, peaceful home. But he had no such home here. This Lane had not even a slight comprehension of what peace was. All it knew, along with everyone else who lived in this hell hole was violence, gore, and usually a cruel, and untimely death.
Corpses, stiffs, carcasses, dead bodies, whatever the hell you wanted to call them were everywhere on this metaphorical graveyard.
Cats with their skulls bashed in; their brains, and eyes squished into disgusting pink jelly substances. Broken teeth smashed into their bristled tongues, and into the roofs of their mouths, sticking in like stalactites in caves.
Some were drowned in the creek by the house, or in the small pound in the back of the woods. They'd be held down by Sierra's branch-cutters. They had long handles, about two feet long, and three and a half long inch blades. They were used to grip, cut, bash, and crush Sierra's victims.
The drowning would flail frantically as the tried to escape her shears death grip, cutting open their skins, and their blood turning the water scarlet, like red food coloring. Sierra would then lift them out of the foul water then, watching them writhe, and twist, gasping for air, before she slammed them back down into the water. They'd go limp in a few, slow, moments later.
A few had died from falling into from starvation after they had falling from a broken tree that formed a bridge between to other trees into a dense thorn-bush. They get tangled in the thick vines, and the thorns would dig into them like a fish on a hook. They'd die a slow, painful death. It was like being wrapped in barbed wire, whilst you starve to death, and crows mocked, and pecked at you. And nobody would help them. Nobody was allowed to, lest they suffer the same fate.
Others' had their limbs torn off, and then thrown around. Smacking into trees like a baseball to a bat, bones snapping in half cries of agony exploding into the air. Blood running out from their wounds, staining whatever color fur they had red. They'd drop like dead weights, and landed with painful thuds.
And if you were still alive after all that, Sierra would do either do three things: One: Slide her shears over your neck, and either cut your throat or snap your neck. That's what would happen if you were lucky.
Two: Roll you over onto your back or stomach, pin you down with her foot, grip her shears around your neck, and pull. Pull until your back broke, or your head was ripped off. If your spine broke out through your skin, Sierra would then throw you around into trees until you broke in half; your upper half's guts spilling onto the stringy ones that had laid in your lower one.
Or Three: Slice your skin a bit more before throwing you one last time, and leaving you to suffer for some time, and have your wounds get infected before coming back, and trying again. Most of them would be left immobile from their wounds, however some managed to crawl away short distance before being picked off by whatever scavenging creäture came across their mangled body.
Sebastian shuddered at those memories. He was only six months old, and yet he had seen so much brutality this Lane had possessed.
Finally he had returned to the old car which he lived under. Panting, gasping, and sides dripping with blood and searing with the agony of broken bones the black cat collapsed a few inches under the broken down vehicle.
He knew he would die.
...And to be honest...he didn't care.
He didn't give two shits that he was going to die. Honest to God, or whoever created this world, he didn't care.
Why should he?
This world, or at least the world he knew, was filled with nothing but agony, gore, and murder. So what was the point of staying in it?
His family, maybe?
It was true; his parents and siblings would grieve for him. They'd all miss him terribly. So would the other cats that lived here, but that was another reason on why he didn't care that he was dying.
If he died, another cat could replace him, could pick up the slack. There around forty of them living here, and there was at least three pregnant ones too. So in a few months new kittens would be born, and make up for his death, and some more strays would almost certainly show up.
But what poor lives they would walk into.
Living outside, in tunnels underneath the old car which he was dying under. They'd survive hot summers with little water since the creek, and pound would often dry up. Nobody drank from the pond anyways; it was filthy, and full of dirt, and rotting foliage. They'd endure freezing Pennsylvanian winters. There limbs would grow stiff from the cold, and if there were kittens born in the winter they would often die of the cold. His Father, Tray however; was the exception.
His father had been born to his grandmother, Samantha in the dead of January. He and his litter mates had lived in a uncover storage drain by the house. The rest of his siblings all died of the cold, but he survived due to some last-minute sympathy from Sierra, he was saved.
But at cost though.
He had gotten frost bite on his front left paw. The appendage had curled, and twisted, and impossible to walk normally on. So he had to hop to get from place to place. His spine had become curved from all the hunched over hopping he did. He was learning to walk normally, but it was more of limp than a walk.
Sebastian sighed. What a cruel fate living here had burdened upon them. At least now he'd be free from this Hell on Earth. He wished he could take his family with him.
As the pain in his wounds started to fade, as did his life he closed his eyes, and tried to think of happy thoughts, like lying between the lilac tree and the cherry tree during a warm spring day, and the pink cherry blossom petal spinning down around him when a strong breeze blew. His sister PJ, would leap up at them, her bushy tail swishing with branches. He wished he could be as carefree as her, as all the other cats that lived on this godforsaken Lane. But he was cursed with knowing, burdened with being able to see the obvious. And he hated it almost as much as he hated Sierra.
Speak of the devil.
Filthy black sneakers shuffled across the cold gray gravel, and a metallic dragging sound was heard. A pale shadow fell over the near dead cat. Sebastian looked up at the devil herself with a feeling of cruel irony as cold as the metal blades of the shears pierce his stomach. Oh, how he just wanted to die in peace, not in front of the black-coated monster standing before him.
Sierra returned his stare with her bored cold hazel stare. Finally she said rather dryly, "You've met a terrible fate," Her head gave an almost robotic twitch to the left, and Sebastian swore as sure as he knew the sky was blue that he eyes turned a deep crimson color. "Haven't you?"
Sebastian narrowed his paling yellow eyes in disgust, and with his last breath managed to murmur out his venomous last words, "Damn you…"
Sierra's mop of greasy blackish brown hair moved as her head fell to the other side. She stared at the cat for a few moments, almost positive that it had said something, but she soon shrugged nonchalantly, and walked back into the darkness of her woods.
It wasn't till two days later that she had told her dad that there was a dead cat under the car. By that time tiny ants had eaten out most of Sebastian's still open eyes.
A/N: This is a very morbid story. I came up with after watching Ginga Nagareboshi Gin, and Ginga Densetsu Weed. Those animes are about fighting dogs, but when a searched around I couldn't find any animes or mangas about fighting cats. So Blood Stained Red Lane was born. It's a gory story, (as you can already tell) and it'll even get gorier. Me, and my friend had started an actual manga about it, but I don't like since he severely butchered it. (Sierra does not where a dress nor does she put her hair up in pigtails! God! Nor is it suppose to be nauseatingly cute.)So yeah, I hope you liked this, and maybe it'll become super popular on this site. Probably not.