Fhilcar Faunillani 
The puppy’s eyes caught Lucas first. They were wide, trembling under a parked car. His small body shook with every passing car’s rumble. Lucas slowed his jog, heart heavy. The puppy didn’t move, frozen, his fur matted with dirt and fear. Lucas knelt, his knees pressing into the cold pavement. He whispered softly, “Hey, little …
The little dog lay trembling on the highway’s edge. Blood dripped from his broken jaw. His eyes, wide with pain, stared at nothing. Cars roared past, indifferent. A woman stopped. Her hands shook as she knelt beside him, her coat brushing the cold asphalt. She whispered soft words, though he couldn’t hear them. She lifted …
The puppy lay in the dirt, scratching at her raw skin. Her eyes, big and tired, searched for something kind. She was alone. Her siblings were gone, taken by sickness and neglect. The yard around her was empty, just cracked earth and a sagging fence. A man’s voice carried from the house, grumbling about the …
The old woman sat on the porch, her hands folded, watching the dog tremble in the yard. Lara’s eyes, wide and fearful, darted toward every shadow, every rustle of leaves. She’d come from a dark place, a man who didn’t see her as living. A man who hurt her. Her small body, barely more than …
The dog stood alone on the cracked sidewalk. His eyes followed every car, hopeful, waiting. His fur was matted, heavy with dirt, clinging like a weight he couldn’t shake. Each passing vehicle stirred a flicker in his gaze—maybe this one, maybe now. He’d been wandering for three months, they said. Three months of empty streets, …
The dog dragged herself along the cracked sidewalk, her hind legs limp. Her eyes, soft and pleading, met only turned heads. A schoolgirl stopped. She knelt, her backpack heavy, her gaze steady. The dog’s fur was matted, her hips bony under thin skin. The girl’s hand reached out, trembling, and the dog didn’t flinch. She …
Her eyes held pain, but a flicker of hope. Pittucha lay trembling, her body a map of neglect. Zecken clung to her skin like cruel reminders. Her ribs pressed against her sides, sharp and unforgiving. She was thrown away, left to die in Salvador’s heat. Once, she had a home. A hand that fed her. …
The morning was gray, the air heavy with mist. A tiny puppy shivered in a trash bin, his eyes wide with quiet fear. His small body, no bigger than a hand, lay tangled in a plastic bag. Only his head poked free, gasping for air. Those round, dark eyes looked up, searching, pleading without a …
The old dog lay on the cold concrete, his eyes soft but heavy. Tyson’s tail thumped once, weakly, against the ground. His fur was matted, his body thin beneath the weight of a tumor that seemed to swallow his head. Nobody had come for him in years. Neglect had carved deep lines into his frame, …
Her eyes were soft, searching the empty street. She lay still, trusting he’d come back. The dog’s fur was matted, her skin red and raw. A makeshift shelter, pieced together from scraps, shielded her from the rain. Someone had cared enough to build it. She waited there, day after day, on a cracked sidewalk where …
The sun burned high over the field, and Wolf lay still, his eyes tracing the clouds. His whimpers had faded, replaced by the hum of insects in the tall grass. He couldn’t move. His legs, once swift and sure, betrayed him now. The farmers found him there, curled in the dirt, his fur matted with …
The old dog’s eyes held a sorrow that stopped us cold. His golden fur, matted and heavy, clung to his frail body as he gripped the concrete pillar in the river’s current. He was alone. The wire around his neck bit into his skin. The river’s muddy water swirled around him, cold and unyielding. He’d …
The cardboard box was tattered, barely holding together under the weight of the rain. Inside, a dog lay trembling, his ribs sharp against his skin. His eyes, dull but alive, met the young man’s gaze and held it, asking for nothing but offering everything. He was just a shadow of a dog, forgotten by the …
The rain had stopped, but the air bit with cold. A tiny Corgi pup lay curled under a bicycle tire, still as stone. His eyes flickered open, wide and scared, his chest barely rising. I thought he was gone. I knelt in the wet gravel, heart sinking. His paws were stained red, his body frail. …
The dog lay on the terrace, his thin body curled against the cold concrete. His eyes, red and tired, stared at nothing, as if hope had slipped away long ago. The terrace was a mess, scattered with filth, untouched for months. Neighbors tossed scraps over the wall when they could. The dog’s ribs showed through …