Fhilcar Faunillani 
The cardboard was damp, sagging over a small shape in the alley. A dog, barely breathing, lay beneath it. His fur was matted, wet with a stench like rotting fish. The boy was small, too small for the wounds that covered him. A car had hit him, they said, and the driver dragged him to …
The old dog stood in the rain-soaked garden, his fur matted with mud. Trash littered the ground, scattered like forgotten promises. The fence was locked tight, holding him in. He trembled when he saw us, strangers in his world. His eyes, clouded with age, held a flicker of fear. He barked low, not fierce, but …
Her eyes were half-closed, barely holding on. A tiny body, all bones, trembled on cold ground. The man’s coat came off, wrapping her gently. His hands shook as he lifted her, so light she seemed to vanish. Kizyl, they called her later, a name for the spark still flickering inside. She couldn’t lift her head. …
The sun was low, casting long shadows over the landfill. Wolf lay there, eyes wide, trembling. His muzzle was taped shut, his legs bound tight with rough cord. He couldn’t cry out. He couldn’t move. All he could do was look up, his brown eyes searching for something—someone—to see him. His breath came in shallow …
The snow fell heavy, blanketing the empty highway. A small shape curled tight against the cold. It was a puppy, barely visible in the drift. Her fur was thin, matted with ice. She trembled, alone. I stopped the car, breath fogging in the bitter air. She lifted her head, eyes wide with fear. Her gaze …
The dog lay curled in the corner of the lot. His eyes, dark and heavy, watched the world pass. Dust clung to his patchy fur, and his leg, swollen with a tumor, dragged when he moved. He’d been there a year. Searching. Waiting. The gate creaked in the wind, but no one came. People hurried …
The dog’s eyes followed the shadows. They moved across the cracked pavement, flickering with each passing car. His ribs pressed against his skin, sharp and thin, like the edge of a forgotten promise. He didn’t whimper. He just waited. The morning sun warmed the concrete, but it didn’t touch the cold inside him. Hunger gnawed, …
The dog lay by the gate, her thin frame curled against the cold iron. Her eyes, wide and searching, followed every shadow that passed. She whimpered softly, a sound swallowed by the wind. Her fur was matted, clinging to her ribs like a worn blanket. She’d been there for days, maybe weeks, waiting for the …
The puppy trembled under a makeshift roof, her small body curled against the dirt. Her eyes, wide and searching, held a quiet fear that cut deeper than her wounds. Scabs covered her skin, raw and bleeding. She was too weak to stand, too frail to lift her head. The world around her was silent, save …
The snow crunched underfoot. A small, shivering bundle lay by the shelter’s gate. It was barely dawn. The world was still gray, the air sharp with winter. The puppy didn’t move. His head, too big for his tiny body, rested on the frozen ground. His eyes were closed, his breathing so faint it barely stirred …
The dog lay in the mud, her white fur matted with earth. Rain fell, soft and cold, soaking her trembling body. She didn’t moved in days. The chain around her neck, rusted and heavy, held her to a post in the yard. Her eyes, once bright as fresh snow, stared at nothing. A neighbor watched …
The woman’s boots crunched on the gravel. A faint wail stopped her, sharp against the morning quiet. She knelt. A puppy, smaller than her hand, lay trembling in the dust. His cries pierced her heart. She scooped him up, his warmth fragile against her palm. He stilled, eyes half-closed, as if her touch was enough. …
He Lay Trembling by the Tracks, Yet His Eyes Still Searched for Someone to Save Him The dog’s fur was matted, streaked with dirt and blood. He lay beside the railroad tracks, shivering. His whimpers carried on the cold morning air, soft and desperate, like a child calling for a mother who never comes. No …
The rain fell hard last night, drumming on the broken glass. A small dog curled tight, trembling in a corner. His eyes, dull and heavy, stared at nothing. Water soaked his matted fur, pooling around him in the shattered jar he’d crawled into. The air smelled of mud and decay. He didn’t move when the …
The dog’s eyes were wide, searching. He pulled himself along the cracked pavement, his small body trembling. His hind leg was gone, the bone exposed, raw. The other leg hung useless, dragging behind him. He didn’t whimper. He just moved forward, inch by inch, looking up at every passerby. No one stopped. Cars rolled past. …