Poetry, Quicksilver and Christmas wishes
So it's Christmas Eve today. It doesn't feel like it, does it? It seems like only yesterday (sorry for the cliché there) that December had only just started, yet I woke up and took the pretty decoration from the advent calendar that has become a family tradition. Poetry and Quicksilver ahead.
Every December, my mother sets up an advent calendar that she made when I was young and fills it. Every Christmas Eve - the star on top of the tree she designed it as - a decoration hangs from the calendar and it is then placed on our tree. There have been glass angels and reindeer, but this year it was a golden bauble, beautifully decorated. I love traditions.
I have been dreaming of planes a fair bit recently. They've become a comfort, so on one recent night that I didn't dream, I found myself upset by that. I ended up writing a poem about it. Previous nights, I had dreamt of other things.
I did not dream of planes last night
Though the wish had crossed my mind
Trains and travel were not priorities
Though a bus was one thing to find
I did not dream of travel or exotic locales not near
I dreamt of camps and King Island, memories that I hold dear
Mum quite liked that poem, but I much rather the other poem that I wrote about planes and my viewpoint on travel.
Planes fly overhead as I lay upon the ground
Eyes open to the sky yet I still cannot be found
I dream of being in one as they travel through the sky
Whether travelling for business or merely wishing just to fly
Alas, I must confront a painful truth within myself
I have no promise of travel and no known hidden wealth
So I must only lie here as the planes fly overhead
Wishing, praying, hoping, aching with desire instead
Here is the last piece of Quicksilver as well.
---
I had been growing used to the ways of the dead in the quarter-moon I had been here. I had met multiple others in the same predicament as me - namely, they had all been murdered by Silver.
Irish, having been here the longest, was apparently the boss. “All cats victim of Silver, please meet by the Forest-Watching-Place.”
Dog and I scampered to the glassy window to watch what was occurring.
“My fellow victims,” Irish’s booming voice announced, “We have congregated today to see how another of our friends will cope with Silver’s bloodthirst.”
Irish continued his speech. “As you know, Mr. Twinkles is one of very few cats to be left to Silver. We may be joined soon by him too.”
We all groaned. Was another cat destined to join us?
Watching Mr. Twinkles descend into the forest was like watching a cat throw itself off a cliff.
---
“Come on, Mr. Twinkles! Come on!”
“No, Silver! I hate forests! They give me an itchy nose!”
“Just for a look around?”
“NO!”
“Pretty please?”
“Oh... if I must...”
I gasped. Mr Twinkles didn’t know what he was going to end up doing.
The two living cats ran through the forest. Silver twisted and ran out of Mr. Twinkles’ line of vision, and hid up a tree behind him. The small black cat noticed that Silver had vanished - and proceeded to sniff her out.
Silver leaped down, attempting to land on her opponent’s back.
She missed, instead merely pulling at the tip of Mr. Twinkles’ tail fur.
He whirled around, eyes blazing with rage. “It was YOU!” he spat. “YOU killed Irish. YOU killed Dog. YOU killed countless cats - and now you try to kill me!”
Silver shrank back. “What?”
“Oh, don’t you play the innocent with me. You know you did it!”
“Oh...” Silver groaned, her body letting out a deep shudder. “I... I...”
“My name is Mr. Twinkles. You killed my friends. Prepare to die.”
---
We were in shock.
Mr. Twinkles dared oppose Silver? The murderer? He didn’t know what was going to happen.
And neither did we.
---
“My name is Mr. Twinkles. You killed my friends. Prepare to die.”
Silver began to back away from the little black cat, who was baring his teeth and unsheathing his claws.
She turned to run, but was too slow. Mr. Twinkles was on her back, and they were wrestling in a writhing tussle of fur and teeth.
Mr. Twinkles was no longer in the position to kill Silver. The pair were instead trying to wound each other fatally.
Silver tore a hole in Mr. Twinkles’ ear. He retaliated by scoring a deep scratch in the soft flesh of her belly.
They were battling slower now, weak from blood loss and exhaustion. Their moves were not as swift, and they were barely as strong or as coordinated as they once were.
Finally, Silver was laying in the billowing dust, which was embedding itself in her own wounds and her opponent’s.
“My name... Is Mr. Twinkles,” her weakened opponent whispered. “You killed my friends... Prepare... to die.”
He gave Silver a final bite that pierced her throat. She let out a bloodcurdling yowl, and was still.
---
A battered silver tabby padded her way into the Forest-Watching-Place.
“You!” spat Furball.
Irish did not lose his temper. “How did you come here?”
Silver weakly shook her head.
“She must not know,” I said quietly.
“I think it was because she was murdered,” Dog whispered.
Silver collapsed in a heap.
“Ah, her wounds will heal in due time,” murmured Irish.
“But what will happen to Mr. Twinkles?” I wondered aloud.
Nobody answered.
“He will not survive,” Big Mac muttered eventually.
“Which means?” I asked harshly.
“He will be here soon.”
---
A bedraggled, blood-soaked black cat collapsed on the forest floor.
He had indeed avenged his friend’s deaths, and now came his own.
---
Mr. Twinkles slowly sat down in the land where the dead lived.
“Hello,” Irish said coolly. “You have killed Silver and died in the process.”
“I know,” Mr. Twinkles muttered.
A chorus of soft mews circulated throughout the gathered crowd. Someone had managed to defeat Silver - though they died in the process.
Silver crouched in front of the crowd. Her eyes were dark with sorrow. The many cats gathered nearby had been murdered - by her. She clearly felt terrible.
“Th-- thankyou for not banishing me,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the wrath of those she had killed.
It did not come.
It seemed she was forgiven in death.
---
I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy new year. May you and your family be safe and prosperous in this new decade.
Every December, my mother sets up an advent calendar that she made when I was young and fills it. Every Christmas Eve - the star on top of the tree she designed it as - a decoration hangs from the calendar and it is then placed on our tree. There have been glass angels and reindeer, but this year it was a golden bauble, beautifully decorated. I love traditions.
I have been dreaming of planes a fair bit recently. They've become a comfort, so on one recent night that I didn't dream, I found myself upset by that. I ended up writing a poem about it. Previous nights, I had dreamt of other things.
I did not dream of planes last night
Though the wish had crossed my mind
Trains and travel were not priorities
Though a bus was one thing to find
I did not dream of travel or exotic locales not near
I dreamt of camps and King Island, memories that I hold dear
Mum quite liked that poem, but I much rather the other poem that I wrote about planes and my viewpoint on travel.
Planes fly overhead as I lay upon the ground
Eyes open to the sky yet I still cannot be found
I dream of being in one as they travel through the sky
Whether travelling for business or merely wishing just to fly
Alas, I must confront a painful truth within myself
I have no promise of travel and no known hidden wealth
So I must only lie here as the planes fly overhead
Wishing, praying, hoping, aching with desire instead
Here is the last piece of Quicksilver as well.
---
I had been growing used to the ways of the dead in the quarter-moon I had been here. I had met multiple others in the same predicament as me - namely, they had all been murdered by Silver.
Irish, having been here the longest, was apparently the boss. “All cats victim of Silver, please meet by the Forest-Watching-Place.”
Dog and I scampered to the glassy window to watch what was occurring.
“My fellow victims,” Irish’s booming voice announced, “We have congregated today to see how another of our friends will cope with Silver’s bloodthirst.”
Irish continued his speech. “As you know, Mr. Twinkles is one of very few cats to be left to Silver. We may be joined soon by him too.”
We all groaned. Was another cat destined to join us?
Watching Mr. Twinkles descend into the forest was like watching a cat throw itself off a cliff.
---
“Come on, Mr. Twinkles! Come on!”
“No, Silver! I hate forests! They give me an itchy nose!”
“Just for a look around?”
“NO!”
“Pretty please?”
“Oh... if I must...”
I gasped. Mr Twinkles didn’t know what he was going to end up doing.
The two living cats ran through the forest. Silver twisted and ran out of Mr. Twinkles’ line of vision, and hid up a tree behind him. The small black cat noticed that Silver had vanished - and proceeded to sniff her out.
Silver leaped down, attempting to land on her opponent’s back.
She missed, instead merely pulling at the tip of Mr. Twinkles’ tail fur.
He whirled around, eyes blazing with rage. “It was YOU!” he spat. “YOU killed Irish. YOU killed Dog. YOU killed countless cats - and now you try to kill me!”
Silver shrank back. “What?”
“Oh, don’t you play the innocent with me. You know you did it!”
“Oh...” Silver groaned, her body letting out a deep shudder. “I... I...”
“My name is Mr. Twinkles. You killed my friends. Prepare to die.”
---
We were in shock.
Mr. Twinkles dared oppose Silver? The murderer? He didn’t know what was going to happen.
And neither did we.
---
“My name is Mr. Twinkles. You killed my friends. Prepare to die.”
Silver began to back away from the little black cat, who was baring his teeth and unsheathing his claws.
She turned to run, but was too slow. Mr. Twinkles was on her back, and they were wrestling in a writhing tussle of fur and teeth.
Mr. Twinkles was no longer in the position to kill Silver. The pair were instead trying to wound each other fatally.
Silver tore a hole in Mr. Twinkles’ ear. He retaliated by scoring a deep scratch in the soft flesh of her belly.
They were battling slower now, weak from blood loss and exhaustion. Their moves were not as swift, and they were barely as strong or as coordinated as they once were.
Finally, Silver was laying in the billowing dust, which was embedding itself in her own wounds and her opponent’s.
“My name... Is Mr. Twinkles,” her weakened opponent whispered. “You killed my friends... Prepare... to die.”
He gave Silver a final bite that pierced her throat. She let out a bloodcurdling yowl, and was still.
---
A battered silver tabby padded her way into the Forest-Watching-Place.
“You!” spat Furball.
Irish did not lose his temper. “How did you come here?”
Silver weakly shook her head.
“She must not know,” I said quietly.
“I think it was because she was murdered,” Dog whispered.
Silver collapsed in a heap.
“Ah, her wounds will heal in due time,” murmured Irish.
“But what will happen to Mr. Twinkles?” I wondered aloud.
Nobody answered.
“He will not survive,” Big Mac muttered eventually.
“Which means?” I asked harshly.
“He will be here soon.”
---
A bedraggled, blood-soaked black cat collapsed on the forest floor.
He had indeed avenged his friend’s deaths, and now came his own.
---
Mr. Twinkles slowly sat down in the land where the dead lived.
“Hello,” Irish said coolly. “You have killed Silver and died in the process.”
“I know,” Mr. Twinkles muttered.
A chorus of soft mews circulated throughout the gathered crowd. Someone had managed to defeat Silver - though they died in the process.
Silver crouched in front of the crowd. Her eyes were dark with sorrow. The many cats gathered nearby had been murdered - by her. She clearly felt terrible.
“Th-- thankyou for not banishing me,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the wrath of those she had killed.
It did not come.
It seemed she was forgiven in death.
---
I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy new year. May you and your family be safe and prosperous in this new decade.