.the unforgiven xx

[angels.to.demons]

author's note; I'm not sure why I wrote this, to tell you the truth. I was listening to a bunch of angsty songs on my iPod while I was typing it in, and I had not planned it whatsoever. It just.. flowed out of me like water from a faucet. I don't know; but don't yell at me because it's depressing, because I love angst. =D It's so fun! And why is it about a small dog, when I could have easily incorporated it into humane tenses? I .. couldn't tell you. xDD

The Unforgiven

xx

Thick sanguine fluid pooled gradually around the small, limp bundle of dark fur. Dark, wet eyes, full of unspoken agony, seemed to weep the insides of the small lifeform; thick fur at the throat was stiff with dried blood, adding to the tenebrous atmosphere.

And all for what?

Circling the small beast was several larger dogs, each of their eyes gleaming with what seemed to the young one manic hunger, their sharp fangs dripping with lustful saliva. Cowering back, his paws damp with his own life’s blood, he felt his legs shift into a horrifically painful position – which, sadly enough, was their normal position… crouching in fear.

The largest of the dogs – the one that had sicked his pack on the yearling in the first place – halted in front of the young dog, causing the rest of the circle to halt, leering over his broken body menacingly. Shrinking away from them when ones dripping jaws seemed to be too close to his shattered, mangled form, he glanced tentatively up at the one who held his life by its thinning threads.

He felt like a martyr, awaiting the death blow from one that seemed a dark deity, a master of death. When, in reality, it was only a starving, rabid dog – and deep within his subconscious, the young one knew this.

Its large, torn paws splayed for action, head lowering malevolently, the massive, brutal alpha male tightly pulled its lips away from its teeth, in an action that was unmistakably a threat.

But what could the young animal do about it…?

If he was on his deathbed, he was about to sink into the comforter for good. He knew this… and yet, it didn’t seem to make as much of a difference as it should’ve.

What was his purpose, anyway? A simple, insignificant dog – not just a dog, but a thieving street mutt – and after all, he had asked for this. He had gone, blindfolded, it seemed, to the several threatening scents that practically screamed danger… but he had been so hungry…

And now he would die hungry.

Gazing once more into the unforgiving eyes of his judgment council, which had diminished into beady, dark drops of death, he shrank once more, yelping slightly when his twisted back leg shifted. He just knew the damn thing was broken – after all, the crazy chase into the shadowy, musty, narrow alley in which the pack and the intruder was having a fierce showdown had not been a sprint through fluffy, iridescent marshmallow clouds.

He would die a miserable, dishonorable death.

Lifting his head to peer around the alpha male, he saw nothing but human’s trash heaped around, littering the city’s back alleys, and a few rats, which were of no help to him.

“Say your prayers, pup,” spat the largest of the canines – and the one of which the yearling was most fearful. Although he was not the biggest, he was sleek, well-groomed (at least, for a street mutt) and had a sharp, clear voice. He was by far the most intelligent of the pack, and was the one who held his life in his paws – a life he wasn’t willing to hand over freely.

Gasping loudly, from fear and recognized horror, the young dog pressed his frail, battered body to the concrete, submissive in every way, shape, and form.

But as the teeth of the large mutt grazed the back of his neck, spilling obvious blood that splashed against the ground and seared through flesh that should have been burning with infinite pain, the youngster felt nothing.

Lying still, he felt himself sink into a dark, soporific depression, a hole in the banks of his mind that he fell through without mercy. How far would he go until he hit the concrete bottom…?