Fhilcar Faunillani 
The puppy lay in the grass, trembling. His tiny body, barely two months old, was still. Ray’s legs twitched faintly. Flies buzzed around him. The air felt heavy with neglect. Three days passed. No one came. His shallow breaths barely stirred the summer heat. The neighbors saw it happen. A small dog, thrown from an …
Her eyes held a sadness too deep for words. Kama lay still, her burned paws trembling. The field had been a furnace, flames licking the sky. She ran through them, again and again, for her puppies. She couldn’t save them. Her body bore the cost—charred fur, raw skin, pain in every breath. Yet she clung …
The dog lay still on the roadside, her breath shallow. One eye, clouded and swollen, stared at nothing. Her fur was matted, clinging to her thin frame. A passing car slowed, then stopped. Hands reached out, gentle but unsure. She didn’t flinch, didn’t growl. She just waited, as if she’d been waiting forever. The man …
The dog’s eyes were dull, like old coins left in the rain. He slipped between market stalls, a shadow nobody claimed. His fur was patchy, matted with dust from the cobblestones. The market hummed with voices, the clatter of coins, the rustle of bags. Yet he moved unnoticed, a ghost among the living. Years ago, …
The old dog lay on the roadside, blood seeping into the dust. His eyes flickered, barely open, holding onto something no one else could see. I didn’t think when the call came. I ran. The street was quiet, the air heavy with the weight of what had happened. Julio was there, a skeleton draped in …
The old dog lay on rusted metal, his world two square meters of dirt. Valentin’s eyes, clouded with years, held no hope, only the weight of thirteen summers. He didn’t know grass. His legs traced circles, the only path his cage allowed. The man who owned him tossed water in a bucket, stale food in …
The cat was a shadow on the sidewalk, thin as a whisper. Her ribs pressed against her fur, sharp and desperate. I stopped walking. The street was empty, the dusk heavy with summer’s end. Her eyes, wide and yellow, caught mine. She didn’t move. Neither did I. A moment stretched between us, fragile as a …
The cat lay limp on the hot asphalt, saliva pooling beneath her chin. Her blue fur trembled, as if the August sun had stolen her strength. She didn’t move when we approached. My friend knelt beside her, his hands hovering, unsure. The parking lot was silent, save for the hum of distant cars. Her eyes, …
The little cat stumbled toward me, her paws unsteady on the cracked pavement. Her left eye wouldn’t open, crusted shut, and her fur was matted with grease and grime. She stopped at my feet, looking up. Passersby tossed scraps of food and a splash of water in a plastic lid. She ate hungrily, her tiny …
The cat hid under a car, his fur matted, his eyes wide with hunger. I stood frozen, my heart heavy with his silent plea. I had just left the hotel, my mind on meetings and deadlines, when I saw him. A stray, thin as a shadow, crouched beneath a rusted sedan. His fur was a …
The dog lay on the sidewalk, his fur matted and thin. His eyes held a soft, trembling hope. We drove past, my heart catching at the sight of him, alone under the gray sky. I stopped the car, grabbed a bag of kibble, and knelt beside him. He didn’t move, just watched me, his gaze …
The snow fell softly, blanketing the empty streets. A small dog shivered in a metal cage. His ribs pressed against thin, matted fur. His eyes, cloudy and unseeing, stared at nothing. The truck’s engine rumbled, carrying him toward a place no creature should know. A Cage in the Dark The world was loud with celebration. …
Her eyes caught the rain. They shimmered with a quiet, unbroken hope. She stood alone by the road. Cars passed, their tires hissing on wet pavement. She didn’t move. Her small body, soaked and shivering, stayed rooted to the spot. She looked down the empty street, waiting for someone who never came. I stopped my …
The dog lay still by the riverbank, mud caked on his fur. His eyes searched for someone who wasn’t coming back. The water lapped gently against the shore. Across the river, houses stood quiet, their windows catching the last light of day. A man had driven here, unsteady, his car swerving. He left his dog …
The blanket lay heavy on the roadside, a tattered shroud over something still. A Golden Retriever’s eyes, dim and tired, met the volunteers who lifted it. A Silent Cry for Comfort Flies buzzed in the heat. The smell was sharp, a wound too deep to hide. His fur, once golden, clung to his frame, matted …