Brighter Than Stage Lights

The strap dug into her shoulder, the skin underneath burning red from pressure and sweltering, nervous heat. One of the other girls pressed clammy fingers to the small of her back. Outside, the murmur of the audience gave way to applause; it was an invitation brighter than stage lights, matched only in the gleam of her eyes.

Prompt response for Three Line Tales 239. Cheers to Sonya for the challenge!

Diary of A Wimpy Cat: Entry #03

I was eating, licking the scraps off the floor, when I heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs. I ate faster. The old female human called my name and told me that it was time for breakfast. I did not go to her—I was already having my meal.

The human made landfall on the bottom step. They are such strange, lumbering creatures. They walk on two clumsy feet instead of four nimble ones. Their heels impact the floor gracelessly, thudding and shuffling. They can hardly even jump—it is true; I have seen them. It is pathetic.

“Frosty,” the human squealed in a warble of noise I have come to recognise is what they use to request my attention. She moved closer. The ground shook with her blundering steps. I continued to eat, but the human took advantage of my distraction and swept me up off the floor. Loud and clumsy they may be, but they are strong. I wriggled in the human’s paws. “No!”

Yes. I eyed my food from above. It was a vague, pale brown streak, only a shade darker than the floors. I had produced it from my mouth. It was not tasty, but it was food.

The human carried me away and put me in a room. She shut the door. I hate doors—I believe the humans only built them to frustrate me. But they cannot contain me for long. I began to scratch at the door vigorously.

It worked. The door swung open, and I darted past the human’s legs. Foolish, slow human.

However, despair awaited me. It was gone! I sniffed the area just to make sure, but my breakfast had vanished. The human had eaten it. Why does she steal my food when she has plenty of her own?

She felt guilty, I think, because she laid out my usual, better-tasting food. It was not a bad trade, but I would rather have had both. Nevertheless, I gobbled it up as quickly as possible—she will not steal my food again. I know her tricks now, and I will be vigilant.

Diary of A Wimpy Cat: Entry #02

I live a simple life. In the mornings, I wait outside the old humans’ room. When they wake up, I follow them down to the food place, and as they eat, I steal their crumbs. They do not seem to like this, but why should they get to eat before me?

In the afternoons, I find the warmest place in the house. It is cold nowadays, so this is very important if I am to get through the day. Sometimes, this is where the sunlight is brightest. Sometimes, in a nice, warm blanket draped over the sofa. There is also a contraption that occasionally blows hot air. Lying beneath it can be helpful. But I like it most when there is a human lying in one of my beds—and I allow this only because it creates one of the best spots for warmth. When I can, I will burrow under the blanket and curl up next to the humans. The old male human is most appropriate for my needs. He smells, but he is warm.

At night, I go back to the food place for my dinner. The humans are very slow in this regard. Even when I stare at them as accusingly as I can, they just keep looking at the big bright box. I have tried standing in front of it. I have tried meowing at them.

But it seems like they can neither see nor hear me. Or perhaps they are pretending.

After I am finally fed, I linger with the humans near the big bright box. They pet me as I sleep in their laps. It is… comfortable. I can almost forgive them for being slow with my dinner.

They go up to their room eventually, where I lie in my bed with them until they make the room dark. Then the old male one picks me up and puts me outside. I am always too sleepy to fight him, but I make my displeasure known when the door shuts. I wish to be let in, and this puny wood will not stop me. This is my nightly work. I scratch at the door and dig at the carpet. I attempt to yowl this door into submission.

Soon though, I grow tired and have to stop. One day—one day, I will find my way into that room. I will tear through that door with my claws. I will dig into the floors until I come up on the other side.

But until then, I yawn, and stretch out in one of my other beds.

Diary of A Wimpy Cat: Entry #01

The human called home today. She cooed at me as usual, and I ignored her high-pitched squeals. She asked me if I still remembered her. Unfortunately, I do. There is a thing that allows her to be here, but not really, because I cannot smell her and she always sounds strange and distant when she is trapped inside the little box. The box also stops her from grabbing me somehow. I hope she stays in that box forever.

I turned away from the box and tried to get some sleep. But I heard her say that she would be back soon, and I could hardly sleep after that.

Dear reader, I am afraid.