The cat's fur was mud-slicked down to his skin, so much so that nobody could've told that he was truly a dark ginger in color. For days on end, he'd walked these roads, trying to run.
I don't trust you.
As many miles as he went on for, he couldn't outpace the words. Breaking into a sprint, he skidded on the dirty leaves, ignoring the blood that now left red dots on the grass behind him from his cut paws.
The rain was falling now. It rendered him blind, the mud now trickling from his ears into his eyes. Still he stumbled on.
It felt like hours before he saw something that wasn't trees. A shiny, wet black strip of earth- cold beneath anyone's paws- cut through the woods. There were white lines painted across it, but nobody moved across it. There was only silence.
It took a moment for him to register what he was doing. It was almost a subconscious action he made- leaping into the center of that strip of earth, half running, half sliding across it. His paws were controlling him, not his head. And his heart? He'd muffled it.
But that didn't matter now.
Too late, a screech shattered the still air. A blinding light, a burning pain-
Without a sound, his life flew up like a butterfly, then landed down in the ditch where he now lay.
In the morning, they'd find him in silence, as the first primroses began to bloom.