Claws Of The Past

Prolouge

A tiny grey wolf, bumbling in the snow. Following his dappled grey mother ahead. The snow was thick, and he felt himself drifting in the snowdrift. His mother was watching him, kind, icy blue eyes protecting him. Pip was her name, he hadn't forgotten that. Pip, his mother, his guardian angel. Pip, who would have protected him from anything, with great ferocity.

Blizzard let out a squeal, as he continued towards her, in a arduous ordeal against the pure white snow.

That had been the moment when his perfect life had shattered. Shattered into a thousand shards stretching into oblivion. The sound, the sound came first. The horrid clap of thunder that had made his ears scream. Then his mother had turned, and looked at him. Her pale blue eyes seemed to freeze, seemed to go dead. The warmth that had nursed him and helped him through his early days was gone.

There was a crimson liquid, seeping out of her chest. Dark red and coursing swiftly. The liquid seemed to stain the white snow, and though Blizzard had never known death before that day, some deep instinct within him knew that he would never see his mother truly living again.

Then came the hand, pale and reaching towards him, as if to suffocate and squeeze the life and joy out of him. It was pale, hairless and pink. He tried to wriggle and squirm, tried to free himself and run to his mother. She would help him, she would save him. But his mother stayed still and even his anguished howls wouldn't wake her. Then the hand moved, and he was shoved against the cold bars of a cage, and dragged away from the only place he could call home.

~•~•~•~

The humans had taken him away, into this rotten, festering pit. The chains rubbed against his skin and he felt like giving up. They were trying to get him to fight, to fight and kill. But he did not want to; he wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep. He wanted to never wake up again.

Then the humans came and dragged him, there was another stuffed dog in front of him. They turned and grabbed a long tool of pain, and they bought it down on him, again and again. It was a whip, and they were turning his back into a raw, bloody mess. He screamed and screamed, he wanted it to stop. He wanted it to all be over. The pain; the agony. It was unbearable.

He couldn't take it any longer, he leapt towards the toy and sunk his jaws in it's neck.

~•~•~

The humans pushed him into the arena. He would have to fight, fight to survive. The dog before him was humongous, gargantuan. With great black eyes oozing malevolence.

No, he couldn't. He would die, food to this demon in front of him. He looked out to the audience, and the pale faces of the screeching humans seemed to be blending together. A kaleidoscope of shrieking devils, trying to force him to fight until he was too weary.

And so Blizzard turned and ran. Let them beat him into oblivion; for he could not fight.

~•~•~

Blizzard had trained and fought, endured countless whippings and beatings. His back was a scarred mass of wounded flesh. He was stuck in a rancid hellhole and he saw no escape; but he could see an end to the pain.

He could stop the brutal, merciless onslaught of the humans whip. He could be freed form the pain, if only he killed his opponent.
He turned to the arena, teeth bared. A growl rumbled in his throat. The humans didn't bother him, they were nothing but nightmares.

The true threat here was the dog in front of him. Threatening and ominous, it loomed over him. It bowled into him first, fangs bared, skimming his pelt. There would be nothing to it, nothing.

And so Blizzard erupted, and sunk his gangs into the dog's neck. Killing him, taking the life of a fellow canine. Perhaps he would be cursed for it; but it was the humans fault. They had lead him to this. He wished he could say sorry, but there was nothing to it.

Blizzard crept away, into the shadows. He was a terrible wolf, but the humans had made him this way. They had shaped him into this awful being, had forced him to do these things.

He was stuck in a hell, and his soul and heart was diseased. What was the purpose of his life in here, but to kill and kill again. Human pleasure; human entertainment.

But what did it matter? He had been doomed the day he had watched his mother die before him. Doomed the day he had been dragged into this putrid cage.

A doomed and worthless wolf, stuck in a never ending cycle.

Blizzard closed his eyes to block out the onslaught of memories, the claws of the past. He could not focus on them, for he had another fight tomorrow.

~ Olivia