Gingerpaw

Star-cat

Gingerpaw felt as though she was floating. Floating in darkness. Her eyes were open, she was sure they were. She rolled onto her back. Happy to float forever. Content to float until she became the darkness and it became her.

And then- a light. Was it? Yes. It was small, but definitely a light. She wanted to make it go away. It was disturbing her floating. She floated towards it. It was pale orange. A star. She floated closer. A sound reached her ears like a breath of wind. There it was again.

The star was talking to her. How rude! All she wanted to do was float and it wouldn't leave her alone. She floated closer. Closer. And the noise became a word...

And the word became a phrase...

And the phrase became a sentence...

What did it say?

She strained her ears to hear.

"Gingerpaw. Oh, Gingerpaw, forgive me."

She recognised that voice. Where was it from? And why was the star talking to her? And why was she floating?

As these questions came to her head, she realised something wasn't right.

"Gingerpaw. I'm sorry, Gingerpaw." The star was wailing now.

And then the darkness faded.

And she wanted it to come back and hide what she could see below her.

The star was crouched beside the limp body of a pale orange cat.

But... it wasn't a star. It was a cat. A red cat with a bushy, waterlogged tail. Both the cats were saturated.

The Star-cat threw his head back and let out a long, high scream.

Gingerpaw flinched. He wasn't screaming in fear. He was screaming in pain. Unbearable pain. The pain of loss.

Gingerpaw watched the Star-cat scream again, and then lower his head to the dead she-cat. "Gingerpaw!" He sobbed. "Gingerpaw."

But that wasn't right. Gingerpaw was right there. She was alive, watching the Star-cat. "I'm alive!" She cried, willing him to hear her. "I'm alive! Star-cat, I'm here! Look up! I'm alive!"