Fhilcar Faunillani 
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 …
Her eyes held a sorrow deeper than the desert road. She lay where the car left her, dust settling on her matted fur. The auto door had swung open, and her owner pushed her out. She chased the fading taillights, legs trembling, heart pounding. She returned to the same spot, where the tires had churned …
The puppy lay trembling on a thin branch, high above the street. His small chest heaved, eyes wide with fear. He had fallen. A long drop from a balcony, a careless moment. The branch caught him, barely, and held. Below, people gasped, pointing, their voices a soft hum against the city’s noise. A woman had …
The wind cut sharp across the empty parking lot. A tiny kitten, barely born, shivered alone on a car’s cold roof. Its eyes were sealed shut, its body too small to hold much heat. I stopped, heart sinking, and scooped it into my hands. The fragility of its breaths felt like a plea. I couldn’t …
Her eyes caught the sunlight, small and trembling, beside a heap of forgotten things. A tiny cat, barely two months old, curled tight against the world’s indifference. She was alone on the dump, surrounded by broken bottles and rusted cans. I stopped, my heart tugging, and reached for a bag to carry her home. Her …
The cat lay still on the grass median, her small body curled tight. Her mews were soft, desperate, like a child calling for help in the dark. I knelt beside her, my dog panting a few steps ahead. Her eyes, crusted and cloudy, barely opened to meet mine. She mewed louder, sensing warmth, sensing hope. …
The kitten’s meow was faint, almost lost in the park’s evening hum. My son’s hand tightened in mine, his eyes searching the grass. We stopped. The kitten, no bigger than a mitten, stumbled toward us. Its tiny legs wobbled, but it kept coming. My son knelt, his face soft with wonder. The kitten’s fur was …
The cat lay still in the roadside brush, flies buzzing around his matted fur. A young woman stopped, her heart catching at the sight, mistaking him for something lifeless until he stirred. His head was buried beneath the leaves, hiding from the pests that swarmed him. She called out softly. He lifted his head, weak …
The cold bit at my fingers as I set up my market stall. A small gray cat watched from the alley’s edge. His eyes, wide and golden, held a quiet patience. He didn’t move closer, just sat, tail curled neatly around his paws. Every day, four o’clock sharp, he was there. The market hummed with …