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one day, they'll tell stories about mangy.
he'd like to think one day, someone will see what he's done. what he's accomplished. and feel like they can do just as much.
maybe it was wishful thinking. he was never the type to inspire someone else. maybe it was just another vain hope, just like all the others. but it was all he had.
hope. what a funny thing. it was such a cruel thing in the past. raised expectations, just to fall once again. now, it meant everything to him. hope, the idea he could mean something to someone. so hollow, so unrealistic, yet so tangible.
the sky looked so beautiful. it was a nice day out, clouds over the blue veil like ships in the ocean. the sun felt warm on his fur, burning so bright. everyone saw the sky. so many admired it, sang songs, wrote beautiful poetry about it. almost everyone loved the sky. he was almost envious of it.
he could see the clouds, moving further and further away. felt just like everything in his life. like he could reach out and touch it, but he'd never get to feel it. he could only dream of flying so high.
well, this was a start.
he felt the breeze through his suit, air flying underneath him. his tie was billowing in the wind, pointing up as though gravity had no control over it. well, it was only a tie. it didn't care about gravity.
mangy was a different story.
one day, they'll talk about him. tell stories of his life, paint wonderful images, with words or paint or music. for once, he'd be known and cherished and loved.
maybe he didn't believe his own words. he was deluding himself. people didn't know him. they didn't care. billions of malinos, not one will stop or falter because of him. the moment he dies, nothing changes.
was this right?
he made sure no one was around to see him. an empty part of town. "lucky" him. but someone would find him eventually. imagine what'd they think. would they scream? pass out? pity him? would they simply walk away, apathetic?
he'd never know. he couldn't know anything, when it's all said and done.
he'd never know anything again. he'd never get to walk by the park again, and see the wide, shining lake. he'd never get to read, or write, or be able to see the world and all its little wonders again.
well.
not like he was ever doing those, anyways.
one day they'll make a monument for him. raise him high on a pedestal, and see him as a hero. they'll talk about him for centuries.
his fantasies were becoming less and less tethered to reality. he didn't care about truth or logic anymore. he felt himself clenching his paws, claws digging into his palm. looking across the world, he saw a city, buildings just like the one alongside him packed tightly together. even in hunliny, the smoke and factories were still churning.
he felt his breathing, moving awfully quick.
he wondered about the city, his mind wandering. hundreds of thousands of bricks, skyscrapers stretched tall above him. he wished he could make something as big, as meaningful.
his eyes burned. strange. why was he crying? his tears trailed upwards, lfet behind. he thought this would be it. that this would be a fitting end, the end of all his problems. the final chapter to his story.
he could've had a family, could've written stories, could've had a career, painted, love and be loved, made lives better, did something, anything justifying the years he spent on this planet,anythingmeaningfulanythingANYTHING
one day.
someone will hear of him. see a grave with his name, read a book where he's mentioned. wonder about his life, maybe learn who he was.
it didn't seem likely. maybe it would never happen.
but if anyone knew who he was, something he accomplished. and felt better, or inspired, or just content to remember him.
then that was enough. just one life to connect with his.
he took a breath.
then everything would be worth it.
he closed his eyes, accepting what would come next. he was ready.
then he'd be at peace.
*CRUNCH*