Alone

© Cederwyn
Whitefurr

25^th
June, 2019

All Rights
Reserved.

Simon
clutched the pencil in one pale paw, before he squeezed it and the
pencil snapped. Sharp slivers dug into his leathery pads, but Simon
was oblivious to the pain and the trickle of blood that dribbled from
the paw.

He sat;
hunched over, tears streaking down his muzzle. All around him, were
pieces of paper his sharp claws had torn from the book. Pages were
shredded, crumpled and ruined.

Along with
his dreams...

As
frustration sank its merciless claws into the young Buck, he cried
all the harder. He felt miserable – no – he felt useless, lost
in a world of apathy, self doubt and depression.

He couldn't
find a way out, his once talented mind and paws had written such
eloquence – enthralled and entranced – now – he had
nothing...nothing but the yawning chasm of grief, misery and
heartache.

I am
better than this – Simon wept,
his furred lips moving as he spoke, the tears spattering and smudging
the few words he had managed to put to paper.

A more
dominant voice in his mind laughed at him. It laughed at the grief
stricken kangaroo, telling him he was hopeless, good for nothing,
nobody liked him or his work. It derided his works, tearing them
apart with cruelty and malice.

Shreds of
his story lay in his mind, like the paper before him – torn,
crumpled and ruined – unable to be pieced back together and made
whole.

Satisfied,
the voice within him, that cold, cruel voice – turned its
malevolence on him, clawing at his fragile hold on his self image,
confidence and his ability to write...

Clutching
his head with one paw, the other holding the broken pencil, he wept
like a joey taken from its mother.

There was no
one there to hold him.

No one to
comfort him.

To give him
love and support.

Tell him
everything would be alright.

Give him the
strength to rise up and combat the darkness that lurked within his
tormented mind.

He was...

Alone...

END