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
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Shout It Out
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Literature
Statistic
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Literature
Legend Of Love
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
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
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2
Literature
Any Other Way - AtLA
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
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
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2
Literature
running
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
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
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
1
2
Literature
Princesses and Knights
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
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
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
3
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Literature
I Love Her, She Loves Me Back
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
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
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
2
7
Literature
Silent Plea
I am a dog
I am not free
Please listen to
My silent plea
My young life began
In a run down, small shack
My first owner was crazy
Common sense he did lack
My mother was beaten
And the pups had no food
Our life was terrible and
Nothing was good
We grew and we left
All going to a new life
Away from our troubles
Our grievance and strife
My next home was better
Though humans had no time
For taking care of me
Not a terrible crime
But, they too, then left me
Out in bitter cold
The wife got a new husband
He said I was too old
They got a new puppy
And I was forced to roam
Gone was the comfort
Of my second home
I was picked up in a van
Driven by a nice lady
She worked for a shelter
Though nice, it was shady
I was quickly passed on
To a man with two kids
Who were both off at college—
My life soon hit the skids
He beat and abused me
I was starved and alone
Finally it stopped
When he dropped me like a stone
On the corner of a street
I was found by a boy
His parents picked me up
And for once I
I am not free
Please listen to
My silent plea
My young life began
In a run down, small shack
My first owner was crazy
Common sense he did lack
My mother was beaten
And the pups had no food
Our life was terrible and
Nothing was good
We grew and we left
All going to a new life
Away from our troubles
Our grievance and strife
My next home was better
Though humans had no time
For taking care of me
Not a terrible crime
But, they too, then left me
Out in bitter cold
The wife got a new husband
He said I was too old
They got a new puppy
And I was forced to roam
Gone was the comfort
Of my second home
I was picked up in a van
Driven by a nice lady
She worked for a shelter
Though nice, it was shady
I was quickly passed on
To a man with two kids
Who were both off at college—
My life soon hit the skids
He beat and abused me
I was starved and alone
Finally it stopped
When he dropped me like a stone
On the corner of a street
I was found by a boy
His parents picked me up
And for once I
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0
3
Literature
The Mill
THE MILL
My life… my life is hell… hell on earth.
Hell is not fire. Hell is not ice. It does not have horrible demons and Satan, though the people are somewhat like it… Hell is a mill. A puppy mill.
My life… It is a cage, the top of a stack of many… tiny, wobbling, toppling… It barely supports me, my mother, and my seven siblings. Food is nonexistent to my mother almost always… We feed on her milk; very little of it, since she is thin and undernourished…
The wire floor is sharp and uncomfortable. No blankets, no pillows… We don’t go for walks; our muscles are cramped and waste falls to cages below. It is terribly dirty and filthy, it is painful and dark and I wish I was dead sometimes.
My mother… she is all of four years old, a Labrador in the prime of life, and she has been bred seven times… at least thirty puppies, probably more. Her mates have been many; one of the litters had two sires… She is over bred and tir
My life… my life is hell… hell on earth.
Hell is not fire. Hell is not ice. It does not have horrible demons and Satan, though the people are somewhat like it… Hell is a mill. A puppy mill.
My life… It is a cage, the top of a stack of many… tiny, wobbling, toppling… It barely supports me, my mother, and my seven siblings. Food is nonexistent to my mother almost always… We feed on her milk; very little of it, since she is thin and undernourished…
The wire floor is sharp and uncomfortable. No blankets, no pillows… We don’t go for walks; our muscles are cramped and waste falls to cages below. It is terribly dirty and filthy, it is painful and dark and I wish I was dead sometimes.
My mother… she is all of four years old, a Labrador in the prime of life, and she has been bred seven times… at least thirty puppies, probably more. Her mates have been many; one of the litters had two sires… She is over bred and tir
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
3
4
Literature
Beaten
BEATEN
I cower against the wall, hiding, waiting, watching, trembling. Pressing myself into this corner, temporarily forgetting pain of old scars. My time is not up. I can still live. I can fight another day.
My master, a terrible man, does not think so. He lives to whip and beat me. He takes great pleasure in starving me and locking me outside in cold rain. He has slashed me with knives, kicked me in the sides repeatedly, and shot at me. Thankfully, that last attack missed.
I hear his shouts. "WHERE'S THE DAMN DOG!?" I cower, not making any sounds, hardly daring to breath. A cut on my side opens again and starts to bleed; red, sticky blood staining my fur and the carpet. I turn to lick it—
Fatal mistake.
He comes in and sees me, then starts yelling. He runs up and kicks me, shouting about bleeding on the carpet. He holds a knife, and he is deadly close—I run. He throws it and it hits my neck, creating a small hole before falling. I race out of the house, leaving via a partially
I cower against the wall, hiding, waiting, watching, trembling. Pressing myself into this corner, temporarily forgetting pain of old scars. My time is not up. I can still live. I can fight another day.
My master, a terrible man, does not think so. He lives to whip and beat me. He takes great pleasure in starving me and locking me outside in cold rain. He has slashed me with knives, kicked me in the sides repeatedly, and shot at me. Thankfully, that last attack missed.
I hear his shouts. "WHERE'S THE DAMN DOG!?" I cower, not making any sounds, hardly daring to breath. A cut on my side opens again and starts to bleed; red, sticky blood staining my fur and the carpet. I turn to lick it—
Fatal mistake.
He comes in and sees me, then starts yelling. He runs up and kicks me, shouting about bleeding on the carpet. He holds a knife, and he is deadly close—I run. He throws it and it hits my neck, creating a small hole before falling. I race out of the house, leaving via a partially
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
6
3
Literature
Pit Fight
PIT FIGHT
The bloody filth of an arena. Pain and shouting and splattering of blood and God know what else. I ache and I long and I strain at the chain but I am stuck.
Stuck in a pit fight.
I am a "pit bull". A stocky fellow, with strong jaws (all the better to break your leg), bulging muscles (all the better to stand tall in a fight), and sharp claws (all the better to gouge your damn eyes out). But under my tough-as-nails, razor-sharp exterior is a house dog. A pet that wants nothing more than freedom and a scratch behind the ears. To end the pain, to heal the wounds, to stop the hurting I go through. To stop the massacre.
Eyes of victims flash through my head as I am shoved through the door. I growl madly. I might be insane. I wouldn't put it past me—I have lived like this for so long. Chained in a truck for hours in the dark while I am wheeled to the next fight. Steroid injections and minimal food, water, and contact. Spiked leather collars and rusty chains—and blood. Blood,
The bloody filth of an arena. Pain and shouting and splattering of blood and God know what else. I ache and I long and I strain at the chain but I am stuck.
Stuck in a pit fight.
I am a "pit bull". A stocky fellow, with strong jaws (all the better to break your leg), bulging muscles (all the better to stand tall in a fight), and sharp claws (all the better to gouge your damn eyes out). But under my tough-as-nails, razor-sharp exterior is a house dog. A pet that wants nothing more than freedom and a scratch behind the ears. To end the pain, to heal the wounds, to stop the hurting I go through. To stop the massacre.
Eyes of victims flash through my head as I am shoved through the door. I growl madly. I might be insane. I wouldn't put it past me—I have lived like this for so long. Chained in a truck for hours in the dark while I am wheeled to the next fight. Steroid injections and minimal food, water, and contact. Spiked leather collars and rusty chains—and blood. Blood,
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
5
4
Literature
Circus of Horrors
CIRCUS OF HORRORS
The circus. Classic form of entertainment for young and old alike. Where acrobats swing, where tigers leap and elephants dance, where clowns perform and dogs do flips, and horses pull magnificent carriages. Fun?
Hardly.
Behind the colorful flap, after the lights go out and the visitors are gone, hell breaks loose. Trainers scream and hooks are shoved into our legs. Torches burn inches from our noses, knifes are brandished, and the deafening roar of neighs and bellows and growls and barks fills everyone's ears. Keeps holler at us for no reason and force us to jump through flaming hoops.
I am a tiger, a no name. My name is either "that damn cat" or "stupid feline" or "son of a--!" It saddens me that I am white. A white tiger, a rare species, forced to entertain the masses by performing ridiculous tricks.
Our next performance is the morning, and we are shoved into a truck with some seventy other animals. Many smaller ones, like the dogs and monkeys, are trampled.
The circus. Classic form of entertainment for young and old alike. Where acrobats swing, where tigers leap and elephants dance, where clowns perform and dogs do flips, and horses pull magnificent carriages. Fun?
Hardly.
Behind the colorful flap, after the lights go out and the visitors are gone, hell breaks loose. Trainers scream and hooks are shoved into our legs. Torches burn inches from our noses, knifes are brandished, and the deafening roar of neighs and bellows and growls and barks fills everyone's ears. Keeps holler at us for no reason and force us to jump through flaming hoops.
I am a tiger, a no name. My name is either "that damn cat" or "stupid feline" or "son of a--!" It saddens me that I am white. A white tiger, a rare species, forced to entertain the masses by performing ridiculous tricks.
Our next performance is the morning, and we are shoved into a truck with some seventy other animals. Many smaller ones, like the dogs and monkeys, are trampled.
sarcasmdog sarcasmdog
0
6
Literature
Chained
CHAINED
I am bruised, beaten. I am forgotten, starved and dehydrated. I am chained and broken and kept in. I am a dog.
My life, over time, has been reduced from a comfy cardboard box with my mother and brothers and sisters, to a cage at a pound, small but bearable, to this—my worthless existence, chained to a post in the freezing rain. A four foot chain in an unforgiving landscape.
My world has been shrunk to walls, brick walls everywhere, covered in graffiti in a language I cannot read; bright colors, cheerful colors, but I am far from cheerful. My nourishment is an empty, chipped dish of water. No food. My frame is gaunt and starving. I beg for food.
I do not only want food. I want shelter, shelter from the pouring, freezing rain. I want a life outside this rusty chain. I wish to run, to chase tennis balls, to float across an empty field with only me and a kind master. I dream of bowls filled with kibble, and fresh water, where no one is hungry; a land where each night I dream
I am bruised, beaten. I am forgotten, starved and dehydrated. I am chained and broken and kept in. I am a dog.
My life, over time, has been reduced from a comfy cardboard box with my mother and brothers and sisters, to a cage at a pound, small but bearable, to this—my worthless existence, chained to a post in the freezing rain. A four foot chain in an unforgiving landscape.
My world has been shrunk to walls, brick walls everywhere, covered in graffiti in a language I cannot read; bright colors, cheerful colors, but I am far from cheerful. My nourishment is an empty, chipped dish of water. No food. My frame is gaunt and starving. I beg for food.
I do not only want food. I want shelter, shelter from the pouring, freezing rain. I want a life outside this rusty chain. I wish to run, to chase tennis balls, to float across an empty field with only me and a kind master. I dream of bowls filled with kibble, and fresh water, where no one is hungry; a land where each night I dream
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Ndinonzi
My name is Rufaro. I'm turning nine soon. I like going to school, even though I have to walk a long time to get there, because I can meet my friends. Some of them are from other villages, and I wouldn't see them if I didn't go. I like some of my teachers. Ms Machegutu is very nice. She says I'm a good pupil, and maybe I can go to high school if my grades are good. I don't think I will, Baba doesn't make enough money. He gets drunk very often, Amai says it's because times are hard. I don't understand. Times have always been hard.
My name is Tendai. I'm 22. I've been living in the capital for 4 years now. Even though I have my A-levels, it's hard to find work. The people here are smarter than I am, some make fun of my accent. But I work hard. I don't smoke, and I don't drink a lot. I always have some money when I go home for my parents and my aunts. My little sister can go to school, and she is always very happy when I bring her a new dress. Last year, I met some guys that sell Katshasu.
My name is Tendai. I'm 22. I've been living in the capital for 4 years now. Even though I have my A-levels, it's hard to find work. The people here are smarter than I am, some make fun of my accent. But I work hard. I don't smoke, and I don't drink a lot. I always have some money when I go home for my parents and my aunts. My little sister can go to school, and she is always very happy when I bring her a new dress. Last year, I met some guys that sell Katshasu.
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Artist | Literature
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Current Residence: Under your bed. Favourite genre of music: Everything that isn't obscene. Operating System: Food. Shell of choice: The ones you can hear the ocean in. Skin of choice: Fuzzy fur. Favourite cartoon character: Toph from Avatar. Personal Quote: "Oh. Mah. Shu." |
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