Fhilcar Faunillani 
The old dog lay still before the gate. His eyes, cloudy with age, held a silent plea. He didn’t move when the wind stirred the dust around him. His body, scarred and thin, sank into the earth. Each breath was a small labor, a whisper of life clinging to hope. The gate, rusted and worn, …
Miel limped along the cracked sidewalk, her eyes soft with sorrow. She paused, nose twitching, searching for a scrap of kindness. The street was her home now, the same one where she’d once trotted beside her owner. He’d walked her here as a pup, her tail wagging like a metronome. Now, she was old, her …
The dog’s eyes were empty, like windows to a house long abandoned. He sat by the gate, waiting. Every day, he returned to the same spot, his paws scuffing the dirt near his owner’s home. The gate stayed shut. His tail didn’t wag anymore, but he didn’t leave. Neighbors whispered, their voices soft with pity. …
The cat crouched by the store’s door, thin and trembling. His eyes, wide and searching, met mine. Last year, I’d tossed him scraps from my bag. A fleeting kindness, forgotten until now. His fur was matted, his frame frail, but those eyes remembered me. I knelt, heart heavy with recognition. He didn’t run. He shuffled …
The cat’s eyes caught the sunlight, wide and searching. Her belly sagged, heavy with life. She stood on the cracked pavement, a stray in a world that barely noticed. Her fur was matted, her steps careful, but she moved toward me when I called. A soft meow, almost a whisper, answered my voice. She circled …
The kitten lay in my palm, barely heavier than a breath. His pink skin shivered under the summer light. He was the only one still breathing when we found him. A premature scrap of life, smaller than the others, alone in the grass. I cradled him, feeling the faint pulse against my fingers, and knew …
The cat sat in the dust, his fur matted, his eyes dull. He looked up, unafraid. I stopped walking. The street was quiet, just him and me. His tail flicked once, slow, like he was testing the air. I knelt, my knees stiff from years of mornings. He didn’t run. He tilted his head, let …
The kitten’s paws pattered behind me, soft as whispers on the concrete. I glanced back, and his wide eyes held mine, unblinking, asking to be seen. He was small, barely taller than a single stair. I climbed the first step of the apartment building, my boots heavy on the worn wood. The kitten followed, his …
The kitten trembled in the cardboard box, its tiny body curled tight. I found it alone, abandoned, mewling softly under a gray sky. I carried it home, unsure. Daxi, my old tabby, bounded over, eyes wide. Her tail flicked with something like joy. I thought she’d only sniff the newcomer, but she pressed her nose …
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 …