Solemn of the Cats

Crazed street prophet


I saw beneath the system. I was born into the cast off, the unloved, the dirty. I looked at the world through the eyes of the streets, the avenues people walk to get to where they’re going. I never went anywhere, I live in those in between places. I come from a family of troubadours, wanderers who owe no allegiance to any save the dust beneath their feet. We moved constantly, from town to town, place to place, always cast out always looked at with suspicion. I learned that people feared us, I think they feared us because we represented a wild truth to them, a people who thrived outside of the comforts of everyday modern living. We were wild and primal, and those who had forgotten their tribal nature were too ashamed to look at us. When I was young I began to commune with the cats, creatures of the alley ways who taught me the philosophy of the strays.

In my tenth year my human parents played their last bar and stepped from the stage of life. From here I was to meet my true family. Alone and broken I wandered, begging, scraping by to survive. My companions, the felines, came to me and demanded my surrender. I was to surrender everything to the streets, to the in between places. As I learned the ways of instinct I lost my humanity, whatever that meant in the first place. I learned to listen to the whispers, the voices in the streets that speak soft truths. When I gave up the ways of human society entirely I found a whole world of deep consciousness and simplicity. The cats taught me these truths and I learned to listen deeply to the dusty roads.

One day as I wandered I heard a voice speak. I followed it from a dirty bus terminal whose tobacco advertisement told me to seek truth to a piece of graffiti on the wall that said “something is wrong”. I followed the signs and their story unfolded for me. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. The streets were scared, they sang to me in a chorus of fear. The streets were scared and therefore reality itself was scared. I followed the voices for many days until I reached a greyhound station in the desert where a man told me to “get a job”. underneath his admonishment I heard the truth of it. I had a job to do and it was very important. I snuck my way onto a bus and fell asleep. When I awoke I was older. Grey hairs stood where once my hair had been brown, I felt tired and broken. I couldn’t remember anything over the past many years and feel as if I have lost something very important. I find myself in a town called nightvale, a town that is not as it seems. Here the streets don’t speak to me, their voices are silent. Whenever I try to leave I fall asleep and end up back in the middle of town. I can’t leave and I can’t hear the subtle whispers. I am scared.

Solemn of the Cats

Whispers and Lullabies TimothyFire mccarthycasey