41 I Apologise in Advance: The Wild Dogs

The whimpers of fear didn't stop.

The choked screams didn't stop.

The heavy and harsh breathing didn't stop.

Ming Cheng buried himself deeper within Lan Chang's clothes, trying to blot out all the sound around him, failing over and over again.

No matter how much he tried, covering his ears with his hands, jamming his fingers and wiggling them around to create the whooshing, whirring noise that was normally greater than whatever sound had caused him to cower and fall under the grip of fear.

It was as if the sound was coming from inside his own very mind, his consciousness working against him to make sure that he would be suffering here as well.

Ming Cheng remembered back to the nights that he had spent in the underneath the jammed cart in the narrow alley, curled up as small as he could and wrapped around in a blanket, as the city dogs howled away, as loudly as they could, sniffing out for fresh meat.

He remembered how those wild carnivores hunted, gradually edging closer while growling, saliva dripping from their sharp teeth and armed maws, dropping down into muddles in down in big, fat, sticky drops that clung to their fur, matting it down.

They were often too big to force themselves into Ming Cheng's hiding spot, the wood creaking and groaning every single time that they rammed their skeletal bodies against the cart, shoving their head under the entranceway as far as they could, viciously shaking about, sometimes their snapping jaws mere inches from Ming Cheng's flesh and bones.

Their eyes were the worst though: blood red orbs that were wild with rabid hunger and the insanity of a blood lust that had seized their minds and their entire beings, pupils wide and angry, often shaking with the desperation, and the immediate and instinctive reflex of contempt of having the prize that they had seen and wanted being too far out of reach, wrapped up so tightly that they could not touch their meals.

Ming Cheng had spent too many nights consumed by the terrors of their snarls and the crunch that their teeth made when finally caught their unfortunate prey, but there would always be one moment that would stick with him until the day he died.

It had been only a puppy.

A small, almost dead puppy, just as feral as all it's parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings, just as hungry for food, and just as desperate to escape death.

It had been the only thing that had managed to get into the cart, small enough, just like Ming Cheng, to wriggle its way under the stiff wood, and it was just as bony and malnourished as the boy who, it had decided, was now prey.

Ming Cheng had frozen when he saw it, believing deep in his heart that this was how he was supposed to end.

He could sacrifice a limb, maybe an arm to still give him the chance of running, but in the end, as soon as he managed to pull himself outside the confines of the cart, then he would be beset on by the rest of the dogs of the wild pack that roamed the streets at night.

This would be the end of his life, and Ming Cheng, a small boy without any food, without any weapons, and given the only defence of raggedy and almost tattered blanket, fixed his eyes on the puppy, his pupils going wide.

He unwrapped his arms from the confines of his defence, unravelling the one item that had kept him safe and warm through the winter so far, and bared his teeth, giving off a low growl of his own.

If he wanted to live, then he would need to be the one to strike first, attack first, and win first.

And the greatest defence was the greatest offense.

His nails had not been cut for months, filled with dirt and sharpened into points on hard rock and stone in an attempt to create himself claws and keep him safe.

If he was able to puncture skin, then there would be no doubt of the wound made becoming infected by all the soil and dirt gathered between the gap of his nails and skin.

He had a blanket that could be used to blind the little beast, before binding it and throwing it out again, kicking it back and away before it could re enter and do any damage to Ming Cheng.

Or, if he was quick enough, he could grab it by its joints, twisting the shoulders, knees, or elbows to break the joints and render the creature useless, breaking its neck afterwards, and as soon as morning came, he could steal a few logs and branches from the streets, or the forests outside, and skin the being to cook it, consuming the energy and power of his potential killer into his body and using the sustenance to survive just a little bit longer.

Ming Cheng could not remember the last time that he had eaten nothing but pure meat, discounting the half eaten and muddy steamed pork buns and other such discarded foods.

Ming Cheng steadied himself, his body rising into a crouch and ready to launch himself at tomorrow's breakfast, when suddenly, he found himself too late.

Another gnashing maw had pierced through, under the carts sides, and ripped the tiny thing into two.

The small, weak and feeble puppy that Ming Cheng had been planning to kill had been stole from him, leaving nothing but an empty skull and two of it's front legs.

One weakly lifted up for a second - all the rage, blood lust, and suffering now gone, only replaced with pain and shock, before dropping down unceremoniously, the puppy's wide eyes beginning to go dark, it's very life draining out of it and onto the stone floor below.

It gave one last whimper and then, it was dead.

Ming Cheng had stood in shock, frozen to his very core, and didn't move back for a very long time, the memory of that sound replaying again and again in his mind, until he could do nothing but stare at the head that had been left behind.

He curled up, and spent the night watching all the dogs feast on the little puppy's skull, their teeth ripping through his eyes, their tongues lapping up his blood, their mouths dragging the bones closer and closer into their throats, and all making sure that by the time morning came, there was nothing left of the puppy other than the haunting memory that Ming Cheng would permanently be left with.

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