Fhilcar Faunillani 
The little dog dug through the trash, her nose buried in the mess. Her ribs pressed against her skin, sharp under matted fur. She was hungry, always hungry. The pile of garbage was her only hope today. She’d been here before, sifting through the same torn bags and broken bottles. Nothing new, nothing good. Her …
He waited beside the wrong kind of pump. Nose to the wind, tail curled tight, watching every car that didn’t stop. Time moved on — shiny, silent, electric. But he remembered the rumble of a V8 and the cough of an old man’s laugh. And some memories, God help them, refuse to die just because …
Her eyes caught the rain first. They shimmered, wide and trembling, searching a muddy trash heap. She was a shadow of a dog, her thin frame bent under the weight of hunger. The rain had soaked her through, matting her patchy fur. She nosed at a plastic bag, mistaking it for food. Her back leg, …
The dog lay on the grass, his eyes wide with fear. A car had roared away, leaving him alone. His owner ran up, breathless, shaking his head. He walked away without looking back. The dog whimpered, his voice small against the indifferent street. A Silent Cry Unheard People passed by, their steps quick, their eyes …
The puppy lay still on a torn garbage bag, her small body curled against the cold. A collar, too big, hung loose around her neck, a silent reminder of someone who left her. Her brown eyes flickered, catching the gray light of dawn. A stranger stopped, knelt, and saw her trembling. He didn’t turn away. …
The dog ran along the road, dragging a rusty chain. His eyes were wide, his breath short. I drove slowly through the empty countryside. Dust swirled behind my tires. Then I saw him. A shadow darting at the edge of the pavement, metal clinking against the ground. His fur was matted, his legs trembling. He …
The collie lay still in a stranger’s backyard. His eyes, clouded white, stared at nothing.He was too tired to move, too broken to care. Dirt clung to his matted fur. His body, once strong, was a shadow, eaten away by time and neglect. He had wandered far, maybe for weeks, until this patch of grass …
Lilax’s eyes followed him. She stood still, her tail low, watching her owner disappear into the house. Her world was the yard, the familiar dirt beneath her paws. She didn’t want to leave. But the man who fed her, who once scratched her ears, walked away without a word. The gate creaked shut. Lilax whimpered, …
The street hummed with footsteps. A dog dragged her broken body, eyes begging for mercy. Her hind legs scraped the asphalt. She was thin, ribs sharp under matted fur. Plastic bags came up when she retched, her hunger a quiet scream. Passersby hurried on, heads turned away. She crawled to each one, hopeful, then sank …
The cat’s eyes, one yellow, one blue, stared up from the cold pavement. He lay still, trembling, his fur matted with dirt and blood. The man stopped, his son’s small hand in his. It was early, the air sharp with morning chill. The kindergarten gate clanged shut behind them. The cat didn’t move, but his …
Her eyes caught the light first. One blue, one green, they shimmered like forgotten jewels. She stood at my doorstep, thin and silent, her fur tangled but proud. I knelt, offering a slice of sausage. She sniffed, turned her head, and walked away. The next day, she returned. I tried ham sausage this time. Her …
The kitten lay curled in the dirt, barely bigger than a hand. Its umbilical cord dangled, still fresh, a fragile thread tying it to a mother who was gone. The roadside was quiet, the kind of quiet that hums with absence. Dust settled on the kitten’s damp fur. It didn’t cry, didn’t move, just waited …
The kitten lay stiff on the doorstep, lips black, breath gone. We knelt, hearts sinking, pressing tiny ribs. His fur was cold, matted with morning dew. My hands trembled, pushing gently, willing life back. The yard was silent, just the crunch of gravel under our knees. We didn’t speak. We pressed. We hoped. An hour …
The kitten’s eyes were wide, like tiny moons, trembling on the cold pavement. I knelt, heart heavy, and scooped him into my arms. He was small, orange fur matted, a stray I found walking home from work. I named him Little Orange. My two cats, Xixi and Haha, waited at home, unaware their world was …
The tire was cold, its rubber cracked from years in the sun. A faint meow trembled from within. I stopped my car, heart caught by that small, hoarse sound. Somewhere in the wheel well, a kitten hid. I knelt by the curb, peering into the dark. The meow came again, weaker now, like a whisper …