Escape From This Sorrowful Fate | Teen Ink

Escape From This Sorrowful Fate

August 25, 2012
By Kiseki GOLD, Marlborough, Massachusetts
Kiseki GOLD, Marlborough, Massachusetts
10 articles 7 photos 4 comments

Favorite Quote:
“The good things don’t always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”

The Eleventh Doctor, Vincent and the Doctor, Doctor Who

Take this, and escape your pitiful fate,
for I can no longer do it for you.
Run from this, and rescue yourself from this sad ending,
for I am too weak to save you.
Get away from me, to prevent this fateful tragedy,
for I am the one who delivers it to you.

I had heard it through distant conversations of a realistic, grown-up world that sounded like noises from the other side of the water, when you are immersed deep in the comforting, flowing substance that muffles any sound of the outside world. Of course, the ones who have just dived in or are still at the bottom of this ocean of life dream of this magnificent place on the other side of the water, but have been untouched by the parallel side of the water. The ones who are rising, struggling to the other side are not blissfully unaware of the cruel truth that lies on the mysterious side of the water like the others. We all are quite aware of this truth of despair, and live our lives in fear of it, whether in our subconscious or not, how insignificant or great: Sometime or later, freezing and our heads spinning rapidly, we have to come out of our comfort of this ocean.

To my innocent, little seven year-old ears, I had disregarded the word that fluttered like hummingbirds in my parents’ hurried conversations. However, the word had come up just enough to spark my childish curiosity.

I questioned my mother about the matter one day. “Mommy,” my voice, low for a tiny child, caught her attention. “Why do we have to put Muffy to sleep? Doesn’t she do it everyday?” I was referring to my family’s cherished cat, which I had grown up all my life with.

My mother spared me a smile that told me she was going to sugar coat something. “Well, Muffy is sick right now and so we are going to go to the cat doctor,” she took in a shaky breath, as if the previous comment had run her out of breath. “and Muffy is very old, remember, so she has lived a life longer then most cats.”

Understanding hit me like a bullet, and worry blossomed in the back of my heart, slowly encasing and sinking it. I already had a basic idea of what was to happen, but I had questions springing and flying around in my head. “Uh-huh?” I questioned, regretfully beckoning her to continue.

“Well, then the vet-to make sure Muffy doesn’t die very painfully-is going to have her peacefully fall asleep and not wake up again.” I knew she was desperately hoping against reality that I wouldn’t put the pieces together and know what she really meant.
But I understood. I understood everything.

That night I remember our wonderfully kind cat, Muffy, cuddle up to me and I began to cry. Into the darkness, my tears were lost.

The next few weeks, whenever I looked at my dear childhood friend I felt an explosion of misery in my chest, knowing that she had no idea that she was slated for murder. I got extremely defensive whenever a classmate said dogs were better than cats, I moped silently without anyone noticing, and I had the thought of Muffy’s murder at the back of my mind. I had even cried when one girl treated me slightly unfairly and needed to be calmed down by my teacher.

But most of all, I had seethed in furious rage at my parents. They never knew, of course, how much hatred I had built up for them from our small arguments. I hated them. I despised them. I had wished they would be condemned to death unknowingly and see how they liked it.

A million thoughts always flew around my head, such as: Why are they doing this to our most loved cat? Aren’t vets supposed to be helping our pets, not killing them? Why isn’t my mother protecting her cat? Why isn’t my father doing anything? No, he always liked our other cats more. They’re not even listening to me. I hate them. I hate them. I HATE THEM.

Finally, the day had come. More than anything, I wished that I could have taken my cherished friend and run away from them.

It was a dark, clear, crisp night. Muffy meowed, irritated that she had been taken away from home for another annoying doctor’s appointment.

However, I knew it wasn’t just annoying. This particular appointment was so much more than that. I can’t let them do this. I’ll save you. I promise, I promise I’ll save you! I rebelled courageously inside my heart and mind.

But when my feet touched down on the fairly rough asphalt of the parking lot, I knew it was all over: No chances. No hope. No heart. My heart wasn’t shattered, it was drowned. Drowned in hopelessness and despair, my heart beat faintly as some part of me shriveled up and died inside. Though I did not know what part it was, I knew that it was very dear to me.

Emotionlessly, I walked calmly amongst my parents, who fidgeted sometimes. The secretary checked us in, and my mother dabbed at the tears prickling the corners of her eyes. It was her fault, anyway. She shouldn’t have set this up.

It seemed to me that we were called in almost immediately. My mother requested weakly for a box of tissues to be brought into the room.

I shifted the smooth, faded blue Kleenex box in my palms that were starting to sweat, because I had been carrying the box for a few minutes now.

Muffy was moved gently onto the metal death-bed, and at that one moment emotions bloomed in my eyes. I’m sorry. I tried to communicate with my eyes. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

Muffy struggled against the doctor and it was almost too much to watch. But my eyes bored into the terrible, heart-breaking scene. Even though I hated them now to the ends of the earth, I held a deep desire to show my parents I was strong.

The vet held the needle, and injected it into our cat. My cat. My Muffy. I felt sickened inside, like a twisted onlooker of a gladiator match of brutality.

The light danced in her eyes, threatening to topple over and let her feline soul fall out of the furry body. As the body of my beloved friend went lax, my thoughts took a swift turn. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I love you. The light flew out of her eyes along with her soul, up to the heaven she deserves. I love you. So much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I was the only one who wasn’t crying,
and I offered a tissue
to the murderers.

The author's comments:
I know a death of a pet isn't the end of the world, and some might even say I have no idea of what pain or mourning feels like. But it hurt still, and no comparison can ever make that go away.

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