Fhilcar Faunillani 
Her eyes were half-closed, searching for something beyond the cold walls. Tia chewed grass to quiet her hunger. The concrete enclosure held her like a forgotten secret. Four high walls, gray and unyielding, had been her world for years. She was a shadow, moving weakly, her legs buckling under her frail body. She tried to …
Her eyes were wide, searching for someone to stop. Blood pooled beneath her, matting her fur. The street was cold, the night endless. Hummus, barely three months old, lay broken at the roadside. A car had struck her, and the driver dragged her small body aside before vanishing into the dark. She waited. Hours passed. …
The rope had cut so deep into his neck that the skin seemed to hold its shape around it.He stood in the heat, ribs showing, eyes dulled. For days, no one came close.People turned away, noses wrinkled. They waved their hands, drove him off.Each rejection sank deeper than the rope itself. At first, he begged …
The old dog lay on a pile of trash bags, his breath shallow. His eyes, cloudy with pain, flickered toward me. He didn’t move when I stepped closer. His body was still, except for the faint rise of his chest. The room smelled of neglect, heavy and sour. I knelt beside him, my hand hovering …
The little dog dragged his legs across the playground. His eyes, soft and searching, met only turned backs. Children laughed nearby, their voices sharp against the morning air. The dog, barely more than a pup, inched forward on raw elbows. People stood with phones in hand, their faces blank, their steps quick to pass him …
Her eyes were wide, trembling in the dusk. A dog dragged herself across the cracked pavement. She didn’t bark or whimper. She just moved, slow and deliberate, her hind legs scraping behind her. The street was empty, but her gaze searched for something—someone—to see her. A passerby stopped, heart sinking at the sight. Her fur …
Her eyes, clouded with age, stared at the cracked pavement. A collar hung loose around her neck, faded and frayed, whispering of a home long gone. She lay there, too weak to move, her thin frame trembling under the weight of hunger and pain. The street was quiet. Cars hummed in the distance, but no …
The blue truck’s door swung open, and two small shapes tumbled onto the asphalt. Julia’s heart caught in her throat. She was driving from French Camp to Ackerman, a quiet stretch of Mississippi road, when she saw them—puppies, fragile and frightened, left behind like forgotten luggage. She pulled over, her hands trembling. The smallest one, …
The dog limped across the frozen field, his eyes dull with pain. He was so thin, his ribs pressed against his skin like the bars of a cage. He saw us and turned, dragging his swollen leg. The cold bit at his sparse fur. We followed, our boots crunching in the snow, hearts heavy with …
The snow fell soft and heavy, blanketing the forest road. My eyes burned, fighting sleep on the three-hour drive home. A shadow moved in the dark. I stopped the car, heart thumping, and saw him—a Husky, trembling in the cold. His fur was matted, streaked with dirt, his ribs sharp under thin skin. He stared …
Her eyes were wide, searching, like two small moons in the dusk. She trembled in my hands, a fragile weight, barely there. The street was empty when I found her. A thin shadow curled against a cracked curb, her fur patchy, her body a whisper of bones. She didn’t run. She just looked up, her …
Her eyes caught the moonlight, two soft glints in the dark. I stood below, heart trembling. Mimi, the stray I’d fed for weeks, clung to a high branch, her small body swaying. She’d climbed to see me, to answer my call. I whispered her name, and she mewed back, a fragile sound that stitched us …
The grass moved, a faint rustle under the summer sun. Two tiny faces peered out, eyes wide, fur matted with earth. I stopped walking, my heart catching at the sight of them—so small, so alone, blending into the green like forgotten secrets. I knelt closer, careful not to startle them. Their fur was a soft …
The snow fell softly, blanketing the street in silence. A tiny kitten lay curled, barely breathing. Its fur was matted, dusted with frost. I knelt closer, heart sinking. Its body stiffened, breaths faint. I couldn’t walk away. Not from this small, fragile life. My hands trembled as I scooped it up, cradling it against my …
The cold bit at my fingers as I walked the empty street. A faint mew, barely there, stopped me. It came from the ground, near a pile of damp leaves. A kitten, so small its eyes weren’t open, lay still. Its tiny body was stiff, curled tight against the frost. I knelt, heart thumping, and …