Opollo, a normal golden retriever, finds himself searching through the torn down wreckage he use to call home. With the city now in ruins and his happy-go-lucky owner dead, Opollo needs to find a way to get through this nightmare. Will he have to li...
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I ran and ran, faster than I have ever imagined I could run. I couldn't even run this fast if my owner was offering me a buffet of meatloaf and steak, which honestly put shame to my mind. But that quickly washed out as I noticed a painful feeling in my feet. I slowed down at a fair pace, not wanting to scrape my paw pads on the hard surface below me with a sudden movement like that, especially at the rate I'm going. By the time I am at a full stop, I could feel my feet give away under me as I land on the hard ground with a thud, panting enough to fill a whole air balloon. Your probably wondering why I'm running in the first place. Just to make things easy on ya, and to give me myself a moment to suck in all the air in he world, I'll start from the very beginning. My names Opollo, and I'm just your usual golden retriever. We are the second most common type of dog to find around here, right next to small dogs like yorkies and pugs. You can also find a big amount of cats in Brindleshear City(yes, I made that up). I lived in a small part of it with a few houses around, not as crowded as most parts. In fact, the city itself wasn't too crowded compared to ones like that one city we went to a couple months ago. New York, I think Alex called it? But it sure is big like them. If not, bigger. And yes, Alex is the name of my owner. Well, WAS now. He died in the bombing of our city about a month and a half ago. He was a good man; very confident, cheery, and loving. He was a bit awkward at times, but that didn't bother me one bit. We were best buds him and I. He had a daughter too. She was a one year old girl named Hailey, but she liked to call herself 'whabuwee'. I'm not sure why human puppies say weird words like that, but it's not like you can do anything about it. Sadly though, she died too. I was just hanging out around my now destroyed home until I was chased out by a bulldog. Yeah yeah, rub it in. 'A golden retriever got scared away by a bulldog! Hahahahaha!' Well you should have seen the muscles and teeth on that thing! Fighting him would basically mean suicide for any canine. Now, I am currently wet.....and cold......and dirty.... and tired.... and hungry..... and laying in a dark abandoned ally... with aching paws.. I could still feel the painful stinging after every lick on my pads in an attempt to sooth them. No avail though, I quickly found out as my tongue glided over a deep cut. A shock made itself through my body as an unbearable jab welcomed itself to my foot. After a loud and unhelpful yelp, I decided to stop trying that in fear of meeting that piercing stab again. I drag myself to a torn up mattress, making myself comfortable as I curl up on it. Or as comfortable as I can even get considering it's condition, which is proven to be little to none. My wary and droopy eyes make their way around my surrounding area for any possible threats. After a few reassuring sniffs, I lay my muzzle down in between my paws and whimper to myself as I allow sleep to take me away from this hell.
