sarcasmdog

A dog, tethered to a chain in the backyard, hangs herself on the metal wire she was attached to. A cat jumped the fence and was eventually poisoned. A rottweiler, left abandoned in a junkyard, dies of heat exhaustion and dehydration.
They are statistics, a never ending line of animal cruelty.
A desolate shelter, populated only by crying, starving animals, left in cages to fend for themselves. A home full of cats, stuck in squalor as their “owner” gets drunk, only to eventually torture some of them. A dog is beaten by an abusive ex-boyfriend of the girl who adopted him.
Statistics.
A tiger, forced to jump through hoops at threats of being beaten. A dog is hit with a broken beer bottle as his “caretaker” comes home after another night at the bar. A cat’s eye, swollen shut from mange, lives along many others in the home of an elderly breeder who no longer cares for them.
Statistics.
A house full of animals, shoved in cages without food or water as their overworked

They don’t know.
They don’t know that after they are dead and gone, their story will spread. It will expand and grow, and become somewhat of a legend. People will whisper it like a ghost tale around campfires; children will be lulled to sleep by their parent’s soothing recollection of their tale. It will be infamous; the tale of the stray dog who learned to love, and the headstrong young girl who learned to accept change.
Once they are gone, witnesses will come forth. Townsfolk, who saw the dog, never knew what he was under the layers of torn fur and bruised skin. The man who attacked her, who had the bite wound on his leg to prove it, regrets ever trying to take her. The prince’s family, who had searched in vain for him and never once suspected that the old woman they saw, could have transformed their beloved son. And of course, many more; her brothers and sisters and their children; people in town who knew her well; men who had tried to court her. Their stories we

Any Other Way
The war is over, and Sokka is grateful for it.
No more wandering around the world on a ten-ton bison with his sister, the Avatar, a blind Earthbender, and a winged lemur, trying to escape a psychotic prince and his even more psychotic sister, trying to end a war that has been going on for a century. No more living off the land and getting settled, only to leave in a few more days. No more meeting countless girls who he may or may not love, or might or might not love him back.
He still thinks of Yue (oh yes, every day) and Suki (he wishes dearly he had gotten revenge on the trio of “dangerous ladies” who murdered her and her warriors). He thinks of his father, chief of the Southern Water Tribe again, and his mother, and Bato, and all his friends back home. He thinks of everyone who ever helped them along on their journey. Azula and her friends, Long Feng, and Zhao die a painful death in his mind every now and then. But now he has something new to protect.
He has

running running running. all she can do is run; from hunters, trappers, humans with guns and snarling dogs and traps in their sacks, luring her in, drawing her close, then BANG
blackness.
she flees every time, missing the gun, the icy cold teeth of the trap and the sting of a dog’s bite and warm blood; blood that gushes out, staining the ground, pouring everywhere.
she pants, feet hitting the ground and she runs, runs, runs until she can see them no more when she looks back. she runs even more anyway, getting far, far away from them until the barking of coonhounds floats away and there is no more sharp crack of the gun.
she is forced to. there is no other way for her to live if she cannot run. she is lucky; grateful for long legs and a slim body, for tough paws and incredible stamina. she is grateful for her wit and knowledge of hiding spots and weak points, where they cannot see her and she is free. she is grateful for the stupidity of two legs and their enslaved dogs.
she is gra

princesses and knights.
And she needed no savior, and he needed no perfection.
  What little girl, stuck inside on a rainy day, has not imagined herself as a princess? In long, flowing robes of the finest silks, in dazzling pinks and blues? With a shining golden crown, and fancy jewelry, and embroidered slippers; with a castle that reaches to the heavens, with hundreds of rooms to explore, a lovely garden full of fully bloomed flowers, and a stable full of beautiful horses; and of course, with a prince.
  She wanted nothing more than a prince; a real one. Someone who would ride up on a midnight black steed, climb up to her window (which was impossible in a one story house), and plant a kiss on her lips, before they both disappeared into the darkness. They would move to an exotic land, marry, have ridiculous amounts of children, and live happily ever after.
  She wanted to be a princess.
  Time passed and her rainy-day daydreams faded away into th

I love her, she loves me back.
Death. Cold. Blood. The stench of a great battle fills my nostrils and I collapse to icy ground, feeling sharp rocks and twigs trying to dig into my skin. I am weak, tired, and alone. I am starved and beaten. My blood stains the ground red and I could curl up here, die, and no one would notice. I am a dog, and nothing more.
To the two-legs, perhaps I am a stray? A runaway? Maybe I escaped from a cruel owner, or maybe I have been wild all my life. Whatever it is, they do not come near me. They see my filthy, tattered coat and my dull brown eyes, and they scream; they run, yelling “hide the children! Get the women inside!” and come out later with guns, with the end pointing at me, straight at me, and they curse under their breath- “lousy flea-bitten mongrel”. And I am forced to run again, no matter how tired I am.
To them, I am one of many.
And now, here I am. All my life I’ve struggled, as far as I can remember, and it all w