Spitting On Cats
Alexandra Sevdalis-fallaw, Grade 12, MacRobertson Girls High School
Finalist in the 'The Text Generation 2014' competition
I half-heartedly stir my tea with the grimy old teaspoon left on the bench top. Watching the milk billow and quickly consume the mug reminds me of the over powering and vice like grip the plague had on my city. No longer do little children run around in the street, kicking balls and playing tag. These things, which back then were a nuisance, are sorely missed now. Its funny how much one misses the simple things in life as soon as they are taken away. I guess that's just the way of the world. Nothing lasts forever.
I slowly shuffle my way back to the small lounge room where my old armchair is positioned to look out over the street. Gingerly I sit down and place the tea next to me on the rickety old coffee table given to me by my mother. I hadn't actually thought about her these past few months. With the fear that the plague brought on, my mind was filled with primal thoughts of survival, all memories of my mother were swept aside; memories which once kept me going in times of hardship and bitterness. I suppose it's natural for one to be consumed with the need to maintain their own life and completely disregard those who made it possible. These thoughts upset me a bit. Who will remember me when I'm gone? I've had no children, no partners, no one who cares for me. I violently shake my head to clear these depressing thoughts. I don't need anyone. We are born alone into this world and we die alone.
Meowing outside my window disrupts me from my thoughts. A smile paints itself across my face as I take a sip of tea to whet my mouth. Slowly and stealthily I creep over to the window and gaze below at the filthy flea ridden cats who have gathered in the street. The past week I have been tempting them out of the shadows and the gutters. Like myself, they are hungry and tired. But unlike myself they have company. They have each other. Red hazes my vision as I collect saliva in my mouth and send it down like shrapnel on the unsuspecting animals. They scurry and in the confusion split off from their group. This disturbance brings me joy. Why should I be the only one miserable? Surely I have a right to inflict pain and suffering on something else. The plague has drained me of just about all powers I previously had, so I intend to grasp what little I have left to drag others (even if they are cats) down with me.
Now with my job done, I sit back down on my dusty armchair and lean my head back. I drink what's left of my tea and return it to the sink where many other mugs have been stacked up over the days. I slowly walk back to my bedroom with hope of just as an exciting day lined up tomorrow.