The Jellicle Chronicles - Year Five

Snowflake Tears

This story is rated R for violence and subject matter.

      Rumblepurr sat in his lair among the boxes on just one side of the Square. He had found a candle, and some matches in his Human’s home, and the light and warmth made the box a bit more cheery. Right now, he was looking at his notebook, and was pondering over the shorthand notes there. The story was from Adonis, mostly, but a few of the others had placed their memories in it as well. 

      He had already read it - not only once, but three times! Each time, he could not believe what he read, or the images that burned through his brain. When Adonis sat across from him, and relayed what had happened, it was like a dream. No, not a dream! By the Blessed Cat! This story was a bloody color nightmare with all the heart-pounding and gut-wrenching qualities of a real screamer. He shivered just at the thought of it. 

      Though the box was not very big, it did afford some room to walk around inside. Getting up, Rumblepurr went to the opening, which was really a tunnel made by two other boxes, and topped by another one. Outside, the snow was starting to melt. Being in the lee of the boxes, he still had snow near the opening. Reaching down, Rumblepurr made a snowball and peered at the crystalline surface of the frosty globe. In the late moonlight, the ball sparkled with white and blue stars as moonbeams shattered themselves on the crystals. Tossing the ball up into the night air, he watched the snowball become another miniature moon. Then, all too soon, the snowball came down and splattered on the ground. Rumblepurr nodded. “How apropos.” 

      Going back to his candle and pillow, Rumblepurr stared once again at the marks that condensed the story he had received just an hour ago. For the fourth time, he read the story through. As he did, a small part of his mind noticed that the characters of his shorthand had begun to “shudder.” Not a very descriptive term, but it did convey the sensation. The marks looked as though his paw was shaking when he wrote it. Perhaps, his mind told him, it was. 

      Tears rolled down his cheeks, tracking through the salt of the previous ones, and adding to the stains on his vest. Almost automatically now, his paw removed the Pince-Nez, and a clean cloth, and cleaned the lenses. Then, just as carefully and absently, he replaced the glasses on his nose. 

      “Blessed Cat,” he muttered as he laid the notebook down. “By the Blessed Cat!” 

      He stared at the notebook, and swore to himself that portions of the story were actually written in blood. Anger, sorrow, disbelief, and the ultimate feeling of helplessness swept through him in waves. Two or three times, he wanted to throw the notebook into the corner. He resisted that temptation, and set the notebook back down on his “desk” made of a small wooden box. He was a writer, the Chronicler of the Jellicle Tribe. The story in his notebook was a part of the Tribe, no matter how distasteful it was. It would have to be written and have to be told. No one else would do it. That left only him. 

      Then, as if his paw had its own mind, he reached out and opened the notebook one more time. Going to the top of the notes, he always drew a line. This meant two things: one, this was the start of a new tale, and two, it was a place to write a title. Opening the cigar box that was his writing case, Rumblepurr took out a small pencil and a gum eraser. Taking the pencil, he stroked the point to make sure it was sharp enough. This time, his paw did not shake as he put it to the page. In capital letters, he wrote down the title in a strong hand. 

      Satisfied, he nodded sadly. The title came from the young Conjurer’s own words, and ones that the Chronicler would not soon forget. That is the trouble with recording events - you remember the events longer than those who live them. 

      Finally, his paw moved to the bound manuscript he kept on a makeshift shelf, and he pulled it down. Finding the first blank page, he flattened out the book. Taking out his fountain pen, he uncapped it and then he began to write....