Demons and Hellhounds (art book)

Cynophobia, the fear of dogs

They tear through skin and bones like it's nothing. It's as if they hold no mercy for fallen, growling and screaming for their owners to end yet another life. They don't care for the weaker of society.  An animalistic flame swirls in their dark eyes, jaws snapping shut at the call of a gunshot. They are dogs, and I hate them.

Staring past the sea of high schoolers, my eyes locked onto the argument forming between a human and monster. Behind the human boy was a small cat, crouched down and staring up at the two as they raged on. I blinked, studying the other monster more intensely. They appeared to be a breed of dog, perhaps an Australian Sheppard? Ah, I remember; that was Keith, an infamous bully known for his torturous beatings to local nerds. Well, anyone with a smart mind apparently. The boy, however, was Peter, a good friend of mine. A smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth, though it was hidden by the scarf I wore. It was for personal reasons. Taking a step towards the commotion, a shiver wracked my bones, leaving a faint trail of fear to swivel through my mind. Yes, I had a fear of dogs, but I was willing to cast it aside for the victims picked specially for Keith. 

"Hey, shit-breath. What're you doing here, torturing such a lovely lady?" Keith's glare snapped to me, giving Peter and the cat a moment to collect themselves and run. Watching them escape I planted myself in front of the mutt, arms tucked neatly under my shawl. Or, should I say, arm. Keith huffed, fixing his stance. "None of your business, Bunny Boy." 

Shrugging absentmindedly, I let my mind slowly fade and return to me, blank as a slate. Keith, however, saw this as a small advantage and rushed foreword, slamming my body to the ground. Air rushed out of my nonexistent lungs, a squeak heaving itself out before I could stop it. Crouching with a huff, I stared up at the bastard who knocked me down. My ears twitched slightly, snow white hair falling down to shield my fear-filled eyes. 

"Someone 'outta teach you a lesson about interrupting conversations." A wicked smile stretched across his muzzle, a pink tongue flicking out to run over his teeth. "That arm of yours was awfully tasty last time we met; mind if I have the other one?" He hauled me up by scarf, pulling it aside to poke at the hole in my skull, placing my fangs on display. I hissed and gripped his neck, squeezing harshly before being tossed to the ground again. his clawed gripped onto my eye socket, him lowly chuckling before tearing away a chunk of it. Keith, the only dog I couldn't fight off because he was the reason I'm like this.

It was long after school hours, approximately five in the evening. And I was still laying in my puddle of blood. For the past two hours I'd been counting all the new cracks, all my bruises. In total, I'd lost a chunk of my socket, had two broken ribs, bite marks around my arm, claw marks all around my neck and a bent ear. That wasn't such a bad beating, if you asked me. Grunting, I pulled myself to my feet, confusion, pain, and nausea clouding my mind. Numbly starting down the street my gaze studied all the people striding up and down the sidewalk. I will never understand how they can be so closed off. Closing my eyes and shaking my head, I inched my way towards the apartment complex ahead. Peter paced around the entrance, jolting when he saw me and bolted to my side. He gave me a look, to which I nodded and continued on.

"It was Keith indeed, Peter Pan." He smiled slightly at the nickname, leading me inside.

"I can see that, Snow White."

(loook Sia made something! Woahhh

And it's not complete garbage! Wowie wowie)