Fhilcar Faunillani 
The dog lay still, her thin body pressed against the damp earth. Her eyes, dull with hunger, watched the wind move the grass. In the mountains, where the air was sharp and the nights colder, we found her. A makeshift tent of straw and sticks leaned over her, barely a shelter. The chain around her …
A Sight No One Expected On a calm morning in Galveston Bay, Texas, marine observers spotted something they could hardly believe. At first, it looked like an ordinary pod of dolphins gliding across the surface. The water shimmered, dorsal fins cut through the waves, and the scene carried the usual joy of seeing wild dolphins …
The dog lay curled beside a pile of trash. His eyes, half-closed, held a quiet sorrow.A frayed rope hung loose around his neck. A muzzle, tight and cruel, bound his jaws.No water. No food. Just the endless hum of a mountain road stretching into nowhere. A Glimpse of Kindness Dust swirled as a car slowed. …
The snow fell soft on the Yakutian street, dusting the ground where a puppy lay trembling. His cries, faint and sharp, pierced the cold beside a rusted dumpster. Someone heard him, a stranger passing by, and called me. I found him there, barely six weeks old, his tiny body curled tight against the chill. His …
The rain fell hard, pooling in the street. A small dog lay crumpled in a puddle, shivering. His eyes, wide and searching, held no blame, only confusion. He had chased a car. The tires screeched, and he fell. The woman inside, his owner, didn’t stop. She drove on, leaving him in the wet, cold dark. …
The dog’s eyes met mine on a dusty sidewalk. They were soft, tired, pleading. She lay on the cracked pavement, a heavy chain around her neck. Her newborn pups squirmed beside her, tiny and blind, seeking warmth. The chain was short, barely letting her turn. She tried to nudge them closer, her movements slow, deliberate. …
The rain fell soft on the empty street. A small dog lay trembling, her eyes wide with fear. Sweetie didn’t know why the car hadn’t stopped. Her body ached, her leg useless, her head heavy with a wound too raw to touch. She curled tighter, as if hiding could erase the pain. The world felt …
The dog lay in the alley, ribs sharp against his spotted coat. His eyes, dull but hopeful, met mine, and I felt a quiet ache. Two women saw him first, a Dalmatian so thin it seemed impossible he still breathed. They recognized him from the neighborhood, a ghost of a dog they hadn’t seen in …
The landfill stretched wide, a gray sea of forgotten things. Two puppies huddled together, their fur matted with dirt. Their small bodies shivered, but their eyes held a spark, searching for something—someone—to trust. They were tiny, barely more than shadows against the heaps of trash. Fleas crawled over their skin, and their ribs pressed against …
The streetlamp flickered, casting a pale glow on the alley. A small cat crouched, eyes wide, trembling. Her fur was matted, her body tense against the cold. She was alone, and the night was heavy. I watched from the shadows, my breath catching as she darted behind a dumpster. Hours passed. My knees ached from …
The kitten’s wail cut through the dusk. A small, trembling sound behind a garbage can. In Brooklyn, where concrete swallows softness, the cry was sharp, like a shard of glass. I knelt beside the can, its rusted edge cold against my palm. The kitten, barely six weeks old, shivered in a patch of spilled grease. …
The hallway smelled of dust and forgotten things. A hairless cat, small and shivering, hid behind a splintered board. He was a shadow, barely there. His skin, wrinkled and gray, looked too thin for the world. I knelt, heart heavy, and offered a bowl of food. His eyes, wide and trusting, met mine. No fear. …
The kitten’s cry was faint, trembling in the dusk. It pulled me from the sidewalk’s rhythm. I followed the sound, steps quickening, heart already heavy. A small black shape huddled by the road, barely moving. Its hind legs dragged uselessly, like forgotten things. No mother cat appeared, no one else stopped. The world moved on, …
The kitten lay still, its tiny chest barely rising. My friend’s hands trembled, holding it close. Yesterday, he’d found it in an alley, shivering but alive. Its eyes had sparkled then, full of fight. Now, under a dim porch light, those eyes were half-closed, its body cold. He whispered its name—none yet given—hoping it could …
The puppy lay in the dirt, eyes wide with fear. Her tiny body trembled, one leg twisted wrong. She was alone in Chepo, a place where dust swirls and time slows. Cars roared past, indifferent. Her whimpers were soft, swallowed by the noise of the world. She was so small, barely a shadow against the …