Fhilcar Faunillani 
The rain fell soft on the pine-covered hill. A woman climbed, her boots sinking into mud, her heart heavy with hope that had worn thin. For eight months, she’d searched for Pho. Her dog, her shadow, gone without a trace. She’d walk the fields, call his name, and wait. Each night, she’d lie awake, imagining …
The dog sat by the road, a shadow of life, trembling in the dusk. His eyes, wide and trusting, held a quiet plea for someone to see him. He was filthy, his fur matted, his body thin as a whisper. A wound gaped where his jaw should have been, his tongue lolling helplessly. The air …
The rain fell hard, soaking the earth. A suitcase lay abandoned, zipper shut tight. Inside, a dog shivered, blind and frail. His name would be Julius. His eyes, clouded by sickness, stared at nothing. Yet they pleaded. A weak whimper broke the silence. The air smelled of damp fur and despair. Someone had left him …
Her small body lay still on the cracked asphalt. Cars roared past, indifferent, their tires humming. Dust swirled around her, kicked up by the rush of trailers. No one stopped. No one looked. She was a shadow, barely there, her fur matted, her eyes half-closed. I stood frozen, heart pounding, watching her chest rise, faint …
The dog lay in the dirt, her fur matted over her eyes. She didn’t move much anymore.Ten years of nights filled with her cries, unheard by those who could help. Her name was Nyusha, though no one called her that then. She was just the dog next door.Neighbors heard her wails through the walls, a …
The plastic bag rustled faintly in the dawn chill. Seven puppies, eyes still closed, whimpered softly. Their tiny bodies curled together, seeking warmth that wasn’t there. Hunger gnawed at them, and their weak cries pierced the quiet morning. I knelt beside them, my heart heavy with their small, shivering forms. Someone had left them here, …
The dog lay still on the cold pavement. His eyes caught the moonlight, wide with quiet pain. We were walking late, the world hushed except for distant tires on wet asphalt. His body didn’t move when we approached, but those eyes—they followed us, helpless, asking for something words couldn’t carry. My friend crossed the street, …
The puppy lay still, her tiny chest rising unevenly. Each breath seemed to ask for permission. Bunny was five and a half months old, a fragile bundle of fur and will. Born in a backyard, unwanted and imperfect, she arrived with a body that fought against her. Her legs wobbled when she tried to walk. …
The fire was out, but the air still stung with smoke. A small dog shivered in my arms, her frail body barely there. Her eyes, dull as forgotten coins, looked up at me. I felt her heartbeat, faint but stubborn, against my chest. The Chicago firefighters had pulled her from a crumbling house, a place …
The old man sat on his porch, coffee cold in his hand. A stray dog limped across the street, ribs sharp against matted fur, eyes dull with surrender. He didn’t know the dog’s story then. Only that it moved like it carried the weight of the world. The man, whose name was Henry, had seen …
The dog’s eyes were hidden under matted fur. They caught the light, pleading, soft, and sad. In the heat of a summer market, Kesha panted quietly. His thick coat trapped the sun’s weight. Subtitles flickered across the video, sparse and broken, but his gaze told the story. A crowd moved past, their voices a blur …
The kitten’s eyes glinted in the dusk, wide and uncertain, peering from the bushes. Her tiny body trembled, not from cold, but from the weight of being alone. She was small, barely a shadow against the sidewalk. The street hummed with distant cars, but she didn’t move. A volunteer knelt, her voice soft, offering a …
The cat sat on the porch, still as stone. His eyes, wide and gold, held a question. He wore a heavy chain around his neck. It clinked softly when he moved. The neighbor found him at dawn, curled against the door, as if he’d been waiting all night. He didn’t run. He didn’t hiss. He …
The cat sat alone on a Brooklyn sidewalk, dirt matted in his fur. His eyes, dull with weariness, met mine, asking for something I couldn’t name. He didn’t run when I approached. His body, thin and scratched, seemed to sigh under the weight of the streets. I knelt, offering a hand. He sniffed it, then …
The cat lay on the roadside, trembling, its breath fast and shallow. Julia’s heart ached at the sight. She knelt beside it, her coat damp from the morning mist. The cat’s fur was matted, its ribs sharp under thin skin. Blood stained the ground where it rested. Julia’s eyes stung, but she didn’t cry. She …