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| - With the high spring tide In red Quite hard I tried To console myself that nothing's wrong Welcome this world A child can't smile When first from the womb And neither can we Years out, and far gone Construct the tomb For this child's heart beats in vivace In an instant While every bottle breaks Sending a red spray Of Chianti and Cabernet And every glass shatters But it doesn't matter Because I'm out of my body Looking at rage, destruction, and devastation In my heart I'm dead I've lost my mind This noose hangs by one thread
- Hey people! It's Cleverpelt here! This is how I think Ashfur feels about being rejected by Squirrelflight. It is part of the Broken Hearts Series. Peace out!Can I go to the change room to see if this book fits me? 14:29, July 12, 2013 (UTC) My name is Ashfur. I was a cat rejected by Squirrelflight, but my fierce hunger for love pushed me further. I used to have a heart. But Squirrelflight stole it. She stole my heart and then she shattered it. Now I have no heart. And I have no heartbeat. Or do I? If only I had been better, Maybe she wouldn’t of left me.
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| - Hey people! It's Cleverpelt here! This is how I think Ashfur feels about being rejected by Squirrelflight. It is part of the Broken Hearts Series. Peace out!Can I go to the change room to see if this book fits me? 14:29, July 12, 2013 (UTC) My name is Ashfur. I was a cat rejected by Squirrelflight, but my fierce hunger for love pushed me further. I used to have a heart. But Squirrelflight stole it. She stole my heart and then she shattered it. Now I have no heart. And I have no heartbeat. Or do I? Sometimes when I walk I hear something behind me. But I turn around and find only the lonely echo of what Squirrelflight and I used to have. I beg Squirrelflight to give me another chance, but she pushes me away and goes to join her “mate”. If only I had been better, Maybe she wouldn’t of left me. If only I had kept my promises, maybe she wouldn’t of left me for him. If only I had tried harder, maybe she wouldn’t of left me for Brambleclaw. When I hunt, I imagine Squirrelflight next to me, teaching our kits to hunt. She would always get the prey first, snatching it up with her quick claws. I would laugh and I would nuzzle her. She would drop the prey in front of me and let me bring it to camp. But it hurts when I look to my side and see that Squirrelflight isn’t there. She’s off somewhere with Brambleclaw, leaving me in the shadows to be shunned. When I think about that I stop fantasying and squint my eyes to try and see better. But my vision ends up blurring because there are tears in my eyes. When cats hear me talk about Squirrelflight they take pity on me. Sometimes they shake their heads and mutter: “She’s with Brambleclaw.” But my sister, Ferncloud, tells me it will be alright and asks if I’ve seen the way Daisy eyes me. I’ll shake my head and screech: “I don’t want Daisy!” And I’ll run out of camp. Nobody tries to stop me. Who would? I’m useless. The next day cats at the fresh-kill pile gossip about Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw’s relationship. My heart feels like it’s falling into a pit of darkness with nothing at the bottom but sorrow and disappointment. My vision blackens as I hit the bottom. I was hunting by the riverbank when I heard pawsteps behind me. I turn around. “Hollyleaf.” I meow. “Ashfur.” She snarls. I let her bite me and scratch me and toss me in the river. But I was still alive as the cold water rushed up my flanks. I killed myself because I never wanted to see Squirrelflight’s face beside Brambleclaw’s ever again. So I hit my head off a sharp rock. It left a thin trail of blood as the river washed me downstream.
- With the high spring tide In red Quite hard I tried To console myself that nothing's wrong Welcome this world A child can't smile When first from the womb And neither can we Years out, and far gone Construct the tomb For this child's heart beats in vivace In an instant While every bottle breaks Sending a red spray Of Chianti and Cabernet And every glass shatters But it doesn't matter Because I'm out of my body Looking at rage, destruction, and devastation In my heart I'm dead I've lost my mind This noose hangs by one thread Your song is three minutes long With no premise Your song, my son, is over
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