Sigurd.

BEFORE READING-

This story is meant to be a 'lil creepy, so be aware of the following;

-contains death (nothing graphic)

''-contains talk about real disorder- this in no way was meant to be made to offend anyone with that disorder, nor anything close to that. I just found it, and this idea sprang to my head. If you're interested in learning more about it, you can search it up ^^''

People call me Sigurd now days.

Not many people know me. Not many people care, really.

I'm more commonly known as the deer alpha.

Unlike the main six, I don't have a large role in Jamaa, never will. Needles to say, I rather it stay that way.

Everyone keeps wondering about the alphas.

What is Greely's darkest secret? When will we get his backstory? Is he working with the phantoms?

Is Liza really good? Or is she just faking it?

Does Cosmo have short term memory? ''How does one forget what a strawberry is called? ''

I might have went a bit overboard with the last one.

Nobody is really interested in the other alphas. There's really no proof we even exist, not counting a few stone statues Jammers can buy. But, thanks to that, we don't get a lot of attention. There's no spotlight hanging above us, forcing us to hide whatever secrets we want to keep away from the public eye.

That's why nobody knows, that some of us are sick.

I have no idea, why a god like Mira, would pick animals with disabilities as alphas. Some of us aren't even stable enough to be anywhere close to an alpha tittle.

It's not as if we don't have a leg, or have a missing a tail.

Mira probably picked us to simply model for the alpha statues. She picked random jammers, with no sense of leadership or fairness.

Enough of that, though. I want to take the spotlight for a moment.

I want to show you, that Mira has, to put it simply, screwed up. She clearly hadn't checked the backstories to her minor alphas.

I'm probably confusing you.

Let's put away all the alpha stuff; pretend it never happened. This is back in the day, when alphas were yet to be chosen. When we were simple jammers.

Let's start with this.

I have this disorder, called Obsessive–compulsive.

I have this need to preform certain routines every, single, day. If I don't, I have this horrible, nagging feeling. It makes me anxious and stressed. I need to stick to the routine everyday.

I woke up, somewhere between six and seven in the morning. The birds are always so loud when it's this early.

After getting dressed, I walked down the stairs, jumping over the fifth step from the bottom. That damned step.

I simply could not step on it.

I just couldn't bring myself to.

Today I was meant to have a long day at work. My co-worker was sick, so I was going to fill in for him.

Although, I knew he wasn't actually sick. There's just been a horrible rat problem lately, and he's terrified of them. Although, they should all be dead by now (thanks to my manager throwing these weird 'rat poison' things all around the floor- something that looked like butter, and surprisingly smelled nice).

I rushed while doing my coffee, almost spilling it on the ground.

I almost forgot to check the news.

Almost.

Grabbing the newspaper, I scanned through it. A new building was being placed in the middle of town, apparently a new cloths shop. I frowned.

We had enough of those already.

I walked outside, locking the door behind me.

Then unlocking it, and locking it again.

Tapping it once, followed by the pull of the handle.

I arrived at the restaurant five minutes early for my shift.

I was feeling uneasy.

Something was wrong.

Moments later, I was already in the kitchen, getting a few drinks ready.

One

Two

Three

Four cups.

I filled each of them with whatever the customers ordered.

I dropped something sweet, a sugar cube in the forth one, as I always do.

All of this felt so wrong though.

' What was it?  '

I decided to not let it get to me, wanting to do my job correctly.

By the time I was back, it was already dark.

And the same, stupid, nagging feeling followed me everywhere.

What was I doing wrong?!

I walked into the house, locking the door behind me.

I then unlocked it and locked it again,

tapped the doorknob, before pulling on it.

Tired, I walked up the stairs to my bedroom.

Of course, jumping over the fifth step.

Something was still wrong.

The next morning, the feeling kept following me.

Walked down the steps, jumped over the fifth step,

Quickly read the news (apparently something new has once again opened up in Jamaa- some furniture shop this time. I frowned at that.)

I locked the door;

unlocked it, locked it, tapped the doorknob, then pulled.

At work things just got worse.

Something.

Was.

Horribly.

Wrong.

My back was itching, and I could feel a headache coming in.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four cups.

''Fine so far. Why does it feel like something's missing?''

I threw a sugar cube into the fourth cup, as I always do (I think I always do).

With each following client ordering and leaving, the feeling just got worse.

My heart felt as if it was stuck in my throat, while my ears flintched whenever someone said anything. There's something wrong.

I got home quickly,

Locking the door, unlocking, tapping, pulling.

I felt horrible, restless. My limbs felt heavy, as if I'd ran a thousand miles a moment ago.

I walked up the stairs- skipping the fifth step.

And I just sat in bed.

I just couldn't go to sleep.

I woke up.

I had this urge.

I have no idea what the urge was for, what I wanted to do.

But it was there.

Breaking my routine.

Breaking my perfect cycle.

Down the stairs and over the fifth step,

Quickly scan the news (Some nonsense about celebrities coming through Jamaa- I frowned at that too).

Lock the door behind me,

Unlock, lock again, tap and pull.

I'm on my shift.

I'm on it right now.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four.

Four cups.

Blueberry juice, Blackberry, Blueberry again, and lastly Strawberry.

I grabbed for the sugar cubes-

Yet my hooves didn't dare move.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

What is it, what is wrong!?

 "WHAT IS WORNG?" 

My voice echoed through the empty kitchen I was in. The stress, the anxiety was to much for me. My neck was starting to get itchy, while my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to calm down.

Something was wrong. This, this something was like a monster crawling up my back. Latching it's teeth in my throat, not daring to let me go. What do I do? What is missing? What-

I was at work, damn it.

I should at least try to get through the first four drinks.

I scanned the counter, looking at the cups, spoons and plates scattered across it.

Yet my eyes were caught by a familiar drawer.

I haven't reached into that drawer yesterday.

Or the day before.

Opening it, I looked at the inside, picking up something from one of the shelves.

This should do it.

I dropped the cube into the fourth cup, as I always do.

By the end of my shift, my headache stopped a bit.

The feeling was still there, but it wasn't as horrible as it was before.

There wasn't any urge anymore.

The co-worker I was filling in for finally got back from his break, saying I could take the rest of my shift of.

I thanked him and headed home.

Lock the door behind me, unlock, lock, tap, pull

Up the stairs, skip the fifth step.

I went to sleep that night.

I actually felt a bit better.

I woke up.

I wasn't tired- I wasn't even feeling mildly bad.

I was feeling pretty great, truth be told.

I made myself some coffee, no need to be in a hurry since I woke up a few minutes earlier then usual.

I grabbed the newspaper, as familiar headline caught my eye.

 Unknown murderer strikes again! 

''Once again, a poisoned jammer has been found dead in their apartment. (...) Police have said that large amounts of a dangerous poison have been found inside the victim. This same scenario has been repeating for the past year, with a jammer having died exactly every two weeks from a certain poison, that's commonly known to be used as rat poison (more about poisons and chemistry on page 20) The JPD has announced to be careful of what you drink and eat. They assume... ''

I stopped reading.

I smiled.

Everything was alright again.