Behind their cages, they roared, boasting their power for all spectators to consume with ecstatic eyes. A sense of safety defined their pride, the contrast of natural ability between themselves and the onlookers sparking bombastic flames within their empty minds. It was a self-appointed superiority. These poor creatures, rattling against their bars, bore their claws and gnashed their teeth fiercely each day--for what would be the rest of their days--as they themselves knew nothing else in life.
It was an establishment meant for all to see.
A zoo veiled in Mist.
All shapes and sizes of beasts were bred within its domain, with these creatures creating countless cackling cubs to claim their cages once their colleagues would collapse. It would then be the duty of the offspring to take after the fallen, reigning the inheritance of animistic fury for all those who dare test what they are capable of. They could rise chills up the spines of onlookers just at their tremoring roar. To achieve such greatness was the greatest form of pride.
There were some beasts, however, that had long since found pride in the performances behind the cage. One sad creature in particular saw not the instilling of honor that exciting the crowds, but instead the iron bars that isolated him from what was a vast and open world. Duty did not compensate for the isolation it brought upon all those who were caged; all those who were
trapped.He hated the bars.
The creature hated his life, hated those that scorned him for his disdain, and hated the feeling of futility that came with knowing that tall metal rods and deep pits were not the only restraints that punished his desire for freedom. To be singled out for outlandish wishes, to be wounded by brethren for pursuing something none sought, brought on a feeling of loneliness colder than the steel slab on which he slept.
A puppet whose strings birthed from the ends of the establishment's fingertips, the creature did as he was told. He would learn to snarl and rouse a crowd, to make a fool of himself to make his brothers seem bolder. It was a life being lived through his hollowed husk, as his own sense of liveliness was long since removed to save him from the hatred of his herd. The beast traded one pain for another.
But he still hated the bars.
There came nights the creature felt himself near breaking at how pathetic he had become, and would try to scale the heights of metal rods that made up his cage. He would ascend higher than any other had to escape his confines, and perhaps once he has reached the sky, others would seek the same freedom as he. But the bars were far too hard and much too smooth for keep his grip upon them for more than mere moments. It was impossible to climb as he was.
Though this would change when the beast grew his claws.
Days were spent boring the sharpened ends of his weapons into the rising metal, in hopes to ascend the cage of his confinement. Those that hissed and snarled at the creature for doing such a ridiculous act were met by retaliating swipes for the first time in his life, and soon the creature was feared for his prowess. It was the beast's dream to escape the cage, and he now had a way to defend that very dream.
A night came when the creature gave what would be his final attempt to scale the bars, now bearing claws sharp enough to support himself at great heights. The beast ascended higher and higher, each exertion to rise to the very top growing more and more arduous. Labor's fruits seemed to be blooming that evening, and a small taste of freedom met the creature's tongue.
But alas, resting atop the bars was the unexpected: a ceiling. It was sturdy and made of steel, a surface that not even his honed claws could dare hope to scrape. This would be a height the beast would never be able to reach, the crushing realization crippling his grip, and forcing him to fall to the ground far below.
There was no end to the bars he hated.
The beast's brethren greeted the wounded creature with scorn and disappointment once more, as he was now the fool of the establishment. Those that shared his cage attacked the pitiful creature for nearly abandoning his duty, roaring and growling at the near loss of the future pride. But the beast was empty, having realized his dream was impossible.
Empty for all but his hatred of the bars.
That very day, the wounded creature rose before the iron rods, and pressed himself between them. His bones creaked, his wounds leaked, and he couldn't help but howl in pain. Those around him saw the commotion, and clawed at the creature, dragging him back into cage with all of their might.
The beast pressed onward, though, pushing himself farther and farther, losing his breath and crushing his gut in the process. Pain exploded like lightning bolts on trees, throughout his body, as the wrenching of reddened claws continued to tear away at his flesh. All things in the world were against him, against his reaching of his dream, and it seemed as if death would find him before the taste of freedom would.
But with a crackle of his shoulders, the beast slipped through.
Crippled and scarred, the beast found the taste of freedom mixed with the blood in his mouth, and an exhilarating roar echoed throughout the establishment. Though when he turned to face his herd through the cage, expecting shock and surprise, he was instead greeted by a profound sadness. Those whom he hated looked upon him with longing, with loss, with pleading. It was then that he saw the isolation upon their faces, one that they had overcome with being together within the cage.
And they had lost one of their own.
Their sadness soon boiled over into rage, as the group roared with greater ferocity, lacking pride or pomposity in the betrayed song they would sing. The creature turned his back to them all, the joy he expected to feel being utterly shattered by a stake of abandonment.
It was out here, out in the free world, that the beast found true isolation. He had the freedom to explore and learn about everything, but not a soul to share it all with. The creature roared at all those who cast eyes upon him, but was greeted with fear and panic. Those that once used the beast sought him day after day, leaving no place truly safe from the impending capture they desired.
The poor creature shook off the remnants of his shackles, bearing his claws and gnashing his teeth fiercely each day--for what would be the rest of his days--as he had nothing else in life.
Nothing but the hatred of bars.
