The Living Dead

The Living Dead is a thirteen-chapter Warriors fanfiction by Winterpaw. The story focuses on a young, moody she-cat named Heatherfire who has a secret. And in her world, secrets don't end up well if they get exposed...

Prologue
I am the living dead.

Its unnatural, paranormal, creepy, and I love it. Cherish it.

I’m no normal warrior of Shadowclan. I don’t just hunt and fight and sleep at night. I don’t just stay in my normal home, in the life I still have. I do those things, but I also do so much more.

I go places. Wondrous places, high above my home and into the skies.

I go to Starclan.

I don’t fly, I’m not some weird pigeon or a cheesy day-dreamer. I…I’m not sure. Transport? Teleport? Zoom away in a flash?

I don’t know and I don’t care. All I care about is keeping this secret a secret. It’s vital to my whole life–which will be on the line if one single kit even finds out.

No one knows. And they can’t, otherwise a revolution of power-hungry and greedy cats are grasping at my tail. Trying to turn me into a freak attraction to use for their advantage, probably hoping to rule the forest. Some of us just need to be recognized.

I am not one of those cats.

Although, I did tell my mother and sister. They promised to keep my secret. They were surprised, and I didn’t blame them. How are you SUPPOSED to react? My mother was just a worrying mess, as usual. She’s weak. My sister’s reaction was uneasy to tell…

Anyways.

I’m a freak of nature. I have messed up powers. They’re dangerous and will most likely be the doom of me.

So why should I enjoy them?

Because who doesn’t what to have dead friends?

At least that’s what Scarletfall said to me, always with a laugh and a chuckle. She’s always making up these crazy ideas, these weird inventions and possibilities. She’s such a funny mother. She’s young and never meant to have a kit, but she took care of it as good as any other Queen would. She’s my best friend in both worlds, even more than any Clanmates.

So it’s absolutely embarassing when she says something about me. About what I can do. I just smile and nod–it’s classic, come on.

But my sister, Bluestream, thinks otherwise. “You’re so freaky! Hide these powers! Shush!”

And my mother is a whole other story.

I wonder how my father would have reacted. If he was still alive, something along the lines of “shut up you rotting worm!”

And I did. I don’t speak about my abilities. I go about my day regularly, I do what I must for Shadowclan. Typical and plain, there’s no point in being a socialite because of what I can do.

I’m not like that.

I just be a warrior.

Well, that’s in the day.

Night is different. Night is chaos.

Night is my favourite thing.

—————

It’s like a whole different universe when I shut my eyes, clench my paws, focus on my ancestors and suddenly appear in some starry-white bush in a clearing of whole new teritory.

Then I see Scarletfall waiting for me, her little child, Leafkit, bouncing around her legs. That’s when I remember, slowly regaining my memory that got boggled in the process.

I’m here. It’s Starclan: my second home.

Most Starclan cats are just sitting around and meowing to each other. Then they see me and smile, welcoming me with open paws.

Of course I go to them, already a grin on my narrow face. My fur is ruffled by the constant breeze there, that always seems to be the same temperature. Starclan is so weird.

I love weird things.

I get along with everyone, and there is a lot of everyones, and I have the time of my life there, every night.

And after my fun night of gossip, hunting, games and visiting with dead cats, I look down below from a weird view at the humongous home of my Clan. The shady forest is still there, with shining dawn lights spreading onto its surface like water engulfing the Sunrocks.

I say my goodbye’s, my farewell’s, and so long’s, and repeat the process of coming here all over again. It makes me dizzy every time, but I’m used to it. Almost every day of the week transporting from one world to another–it’s like a routine for me.

And I had to get used to it quick.

Then I’m back to where I was. Then I’m on my way home happily, with a simple smile, slipping into camp to get the few minutes of rest before morning patrols.

How do I get any sleep otherwise?

Well, I rest whenever I can. After every patrol, eat a quick morsel of prey, then bolt over to my nest and collapse in a sunken heap. It’s a demanding and exhausting process–

And I love it.

I’m crazy, my mind reveals it.

My life isn’t gonna get much better than this. It’s unique and confusing, but it’s always gonna be the same. I’ll always be Heatherfire. I hope.

And it’s definitely not going to get worse.

I think these false things, only trying to disguise the inevitable possibilities all caused by simple naivety.

The truth is, I destroy everything I know.

== Chapter 1 == “Oh Heatherfire, you’re too funny!”

Music to my ears.

Scarletfall complimenting me is just uplifting my spirit to the skies above Starclan– if there are any.

Leafkit is prancing around happily, wiggling his hindquarters and crouching disruptively when he sees a little vole or something. The memories of kithood attack my brain.

He is so beautiful and carefree, with the stars capturing his fluffy pelt tightly.

Everything here is so beautiful, I know undoubtedly.

The light, the joy, the peacefulness. They’re all dead, some violently and some horrifyingly, but here in Starclan every sad memory fades away to be trapped somewhere worse. Somewhere like the Dark Forest.

I shudder. I’d never go there, and I won’t ever have to, thankfully. I mean, unless I turn into a heartless blood-drinker.

Morbid. Just another tiny word in the array that describes my life.

Scarletfall holds Leafkit lovingly, but looks at me, worried.

“Nothing,” I reassure her. “I’m just thinking about if I never come back here. My secret is so fragile…what if it was released and I got into trouble.”

“That’s not gonna happen, Heatherfire. Don’t worry me. Now, you gotta go soon, unless you really do want to get in trouble.”

She was right. And I was being stupid. Another life-word. I have too many.

I said my goodbye’s, promised to be back soon, and bent down to nuzzle baby Leafkit. I hope for kits someday.

But every Tom is just…AAAA! To say the least.

And every part of me is beyond AAAA!

I leave with that thought, waiting patiently in the short darkness until I return. This is so normal to me, so natural, and yet I’m the most supernatural cat in both realms.

I arrive in a very unfortunate, poky bush. I shake my paw up above as a joke, and I can basically hear Scarletfall laughing.

I smile.

“You’re so stupid.”

I frown.

I turn and head out of the bush, shaking out my fur and flicking my tail. I stare up: it’s Bluestream.

A snarky look. As usual.

“Do you just  have  to be so mouse-brained and go up…. up  there  every night, regardless of what’s going on? You’re so insensitive, this power isn’t to use willy-nilly, Heather. Don’t be stupid. Like, really don’t know how to handle yourself well.”

I was never one to hold my tongue. “At least I’m not miserable and useless like the cat you call yourself.”

Too far. She snarls and looks at me, offended, quite realistically. I flatten my ears and she whips around, her pretty fur swishing. My ugly brown fur stays pricked, the same dull color as ever.

I’ve heard twenty-two toms call Bluestream pretty (I counted).

I’ve heard Kestrelpelt call me pretty.

Kestrelpelt murdered five cats at the gathering last year.

Bluesteeam storms off into the undergrowth, and I’m left switching from paw to paw on these poky pine needles. The ground is wet–I missed the rain again. I loved rain since I was small.

That and wind and darkness, which always seemed to settle somewhere in me, too comfortably.

And as I pad off after her, frantically looking for prey to catch so it looks as I was doing something, something clicks in my mind deep down.

What she said was not completely wrong.

———

I’m exhausted and drowsy, unable to keep my eyes open. As I trace the path back to Bluestream and camp, I barely snag a scrawny squirrel, displeased with myself and with my mind. Stupid brain. Why do you make me so tired?

Sometimes I forget I’m still young and dumb.

Though I get daily reminders.

Bluestream said right.

I stumble into the clearing, head down to avoid any possible gazes. I throw the squirrelly messily onto the pile and run to my den with faded strength, the sun sucking the last bits out of me. I’m always so awake up there, where the dead are.

Down here I’m tired and in a demanding routine, that has too much noticeable unhappiness.

Which do I enjoy more?

I collapse into my nest as quietly as I can–which is a lumbering badger range–and my eyes flutter shut. I hear some moans and meows.

They slip away as I do, into my peaceful dreams. The calmness arrives.

Plump mice and glittery streams, full energy and wind-blown, glossy fur. What perfection, my own Starclan in my head.

Doesn’t last long.

The Clan is up, my friends and Clanmates are pushing me to wake. I groan and lie that I “feel sick,” and need to sleep longer. Pinerain–my friend–scoffs, and I know it’s her by the noise in her throat. I’m so perceptive.

A rare, not-horrific word in the vocabulary of “Heatherfire’s heart.”

Perceptive.

Surprisingly, as I’m dead-tired and dead-feeling.

“You use that stupid excuse all the time! What’s really with you, Heatherfire. Why are you always so tired and what are you hiding from me? It can’t be good for any of us!” Nag, nag, scold, scold. That’s how I feel everyone here is. Why can’t they let me have my peace and quiet? Why can’t they be…like StarClan?

I’m actually selfish so often.

I want my prim heaven of rest and joy in my powers all the time, not accepting that I’m useless to my Clan and a nuisance to everyone. I’m just a waste of space that brings stringy prey back to camp and runs away every night, barely careful enough to hold my own secret. My secret that could be deadly.

I’m not loyal. I’m not royal.

I’m  wrong.

I’m ninety percent in belief of what Bluestream said.

And one hundred percent in belief that what I said to her was wrong and could ruin everything.

Maybe my life won’t be so mysterious anymore.

Chapter 2
(2 days later)

I started this battle without ever knowing it.

I won’t ever forgive her. I can’t. She promised she wouldn’t tell, and I never knew she did until this all happened. Starclan versus the five living Clans…the ultimate battle…the highest prices.

I knew it was because what I said to her. It was out of line and downright disgusting, and I never apologized for it.

And I expected something bad.

But not THIS.

Bluestream didn’t go to mother, first. First, it was her mate, Rocklight. He was always such of a talker…I just found him annoying. To me he was… Ugh. Simply ugh.

I found everyone in ShadowClan “ugh.”

But that’s because I’m selfish, naivë and pessimistic.

Three more words to describe me, and this ones are popular.

Word spread fast. Rocklight and all his little yappy minions made a whole gathering in the Clan out of it, basically. I was out hunting squirrels in the lush forest at the time. Or should I say, “hunting.”

I mean, I was.

Just not in this realm…

I returned, murmuring “no luck” as I shuffled through camp.

This happens every night, and it’s glorious while I’m up there, and satanic when i’m back here.

I kept quiet as I padded slowly.

But then I saw the eyes.

It looked like hundreds, all of my friends and clanmates staring at me. Some anger, some confusion…even sadness.

That was from my mom.

And what of Bluestream?

Oh, yeah. That stupid ratheart was all laughy-moony with Rocklight, and when she saw me she just…I’m not sure. Evil pretty girl smirked? With that type of arrogance and impudence? You know what I mean.

We all know what I mean.

Especially me, as I’m usually the one giving it.

I hide my face with my paws and back away, thinking I would be safe. Even now I think, why was I so naivë?

I couldn’t get away from a horde of questioning cats.

Their impending rage was my doom.

I was backed up to the entrance. The open gate of thorny freedom behind me.

The whispering pack of beastly cats in front.

My mother was all sad. She was crying, sobbing and whining that they were after me. I called out: “Mother! Please! Help me! Tell them it’s not hurtful!”

She’s basically my tool to survive.

Eh, she was always weak. She probably didn’t hear me in her poor-old-lady-bout of tears.

Huh, I’m such an obnoxious pessimist.

That’s what they thought too, I guess. Circling me like starving ravens. They looked so fiery and mad, I thought each eye was turning a bloody crimson color to signify their descent into insanity.

They were become evil, calculating attackers.

They were the outcasts. The betrayers. The heartless, the cold, the pessimists. They didn’t trust me and I didn’t get a say.

But they all thought I was the one.

I was the cold-hearted outcast.

Yet at this moment, at their very darkest, all of them looked just like me…

———-

“You traitor! You held this secret from us!”

“You betrayed your Clan for your stupid friends above! No one trusts you, Foxheart!”

“Heatherfire, you should be banished for what you have kept all these years! This information could have helped your Clan–”

“You used it for your own selfish reasons, Heatherfire.”

That was Bluestream.

She is one of them now.

One of me.

Yet I am on my own.

I flinch at every insult. Wince at every unsheathing of claws. Cringe at every glare and hateful remark that follows.

They all seem like they meld together into one angry thing. I can't see any in the back, though I desperately hope some feel different. All they have to do is speak up. Save me!

But no one does. Whether out of fear--Grassstar was never a forgiving cat--confusion, or surprise, they all hold their ground, still melting into a clump of scary madness.

And I won’t be able to take this any longer.

I'm a runner. I gotta go! Leave this place…leave the cats that once loved and knew me.

Now I’m a WHOOOOLE different cat! Completely changed! Heatherfire to Unknownpelt! A traitor.

But no. Not really. I’m just exposed.

Instead of being the lie. Instead of being me as a lie. I’m finally the truthful, real me.

And this me is the bad one.

I run.

Into the woods, past elderly trees and puffy bushes. I can’t face them. I’ll die!

And I’m a coward. I’m no brave-hearted hero of all time.

I’m just me. Real me.

So as I leave, I’m going to have to think of where to go. How to survive, how to think and eat and drink and fight.

How to go on with the loss of my home.

Will I ever be able to go back? What happens if I do? Death, torture, eternal bullying and abuse are all sure-fire treatments.

Heck, even the leader and deputy and med cat were in that ravenous group. I could be overrun in a matter of seconds, ripped to shreds.

So what is there to do?

What place can I go?

Oh, right, where is my second home?

Starclan.

I’ll use the reason I was brutally driven away from my cozy shelter for warmth to keep myself alive.

I’ll go from Shadowclan to Starclan.

They will protect me. They will love and cherish me. They will give me the life I need after leaving my old one.

I would expect everything to go well there. I’ll stay alive and well and happy and be respected for my powers and me through and through.

This seems like such a great idea.

But, of course, all good things come to an end. Or in this case, never happen.

I manage to get my other home to hate me completely, to want to rip out my guts. I never liked them, but life without them completely is going to be different.

I manage to start a violent war between both of my shelters.

Well. I really am such a pessimist.