Steven

1. Puppy

Author's note: the chapters are very short, but oh well!

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Cold. It's cold. Very cold. I don't know if I can take it. Once, everything was so warm, full of voices, sometimes happy, sometimes sad, sometimes angry, always empty. I never saw any of the humans, because I was blind. We all are when we're little. Sight is not very useful anyway: it's dull and narrow. Sounds are everywhere, scents are everywhere and tastes are everywhere—why not use those? Tastes. I remember some I had in that room. I tasted smoke and cheap dog food all the time. If you taste smoke, get away. It makes the people mad, loud, violent. They shove you, and it hurts. Mind you, there's always been a lot of hurt, from when they pulled me from my mummy, shoved me in a rough basket, and took me away.

I am forgetting all this now. Not the important stuff, like what I learnt to crave (to get away) and what I want to avoid (the people, the smoke, the sweat, the tears, and everything in between). That's important for me to live, so I remember it. The rest can be discarded because it's not useful. The feel of tables and chairs, and the bitter loneliness of that place. I don't need those—so I move on.

In this shifting world, I was shifted again. From the mother, to the basket, to that trap room, and now to the outside light. I'm not sure why I was let out. Another memory I shall forget shortly tells me that it was one of the women in the room. She came in, howling and wailing, as I had done when I was taken to the room, until the man hit me—then I stopped making noises.  The women was always nice, and I think it's because they was always scared too. I could smell it on them. I was just starting to see, as one had bright orange hair, like fire. Fire: I need to avoid that. The girl was wailing as she grabbed me by the neck, took me to the back of the building, and left me.

I haven't seen her since.