Chapter 1 - Bloody Bricks
#1 of The Beasts of Burden
I tried to get my bearings as I woke on the stone-cold tiled floor. The smell of blood and bleach plagued my nose until I nearly retched. The small amount of light reaching out from under the door, and whatever night vision I had left, allowed me to stare into the labels of unmarked cleaning supplies and vividly colored cans that belonged in an infomercial rather than a worn-down janitor's closet. A mop laid half-submerged in a bucket of stagnant water, riddled with unknown diseases over the years. Although the frosted glass window cast an almost heavenly glow on the entire room, my life here and up to this point was anything but resembling paradise.
I picked myself off of the floor, my vision desperately squeezing through the bruises and a thin sheen of blood. An aching shock travelled up my spine straight into my brain, and I collapsed under the weight of the ensuing pain. Nine days I spent on this wretched world, and this is what I get. I couldn't even sit up straight without a constant stream of agony from my back, and the sides of my torso and chest yelling at me to stop.
My thoughts raced as I tried to find some sort of solace and safety in this new area. My leg in particular was still sore from the dart. I cautiously rubbed it until the pain subsided. After about twenty minutes in almost complete silence, aside from the occasional wince, I managed to stand up and look around the cramped living space. Shelves were stacked up to a wooden ceiling, the boards being rotten and leaking water onto the top shelves. Meanwhile, I checked every part of my body for signs of damage though it was useless at this point.
Legs and feet: I can stand up, so I should be fine.
Hands: scratched.
Arms: bruised but able to heal.
Trunk: I haven't been mutilated so that's something.
Torso: might need to see a doctor.
Chest: I could feel a rib sliding down from its place, but then I realized that was my shallow breathing.
Heart: weak.
Tail: matted and paralyzed, definitely needs some therapy or a bit of surgery.
Head: still attached to my body.
Ears: torn on the sides.
Muzzle: guess he didn't want to see a deformed face.
Teeth: one of them is missing. Never mind, found it.
Claws: hurts to extend them, but they can still extend.
After checking everything, I scanned the walls for some weak points to try to claw my way out. I managed to dig through a good inch-and-a-half of painted brick when I realized I hadn't even tried the door yet. Walking over to the door, I grabbed the handle and wiggled it around until a familiar sound forced me to stop.
It was locked.
I went back to digging when I heard a loud groaning from the other side of the wall. I lashed out at the crumbling brick, every stutter of my hands on the new rough gravel shooting a splitting headache. I needed to find the source of the groan. I don't remember why, but I was screaming into the hole, pulling out every white piece of rubble onto the floor with a crashing thud. It might have been the adrenaline pushing my strength beyond its limits, but I started punching through the rest of the wall when the hole was almost a foot deep. My arm started getting cut from the jagged rock as I mercilessly struck the inside of the wall. Every movement I made was in desperation for a single voice. After ten minutes, the brick at the end of the tunnel crumbled like old drywall and a bright light seeped through, blinding me.
After adjusting to the new light level, I managed to look at my fur and my clothes again in full color. The exposed fur on my hands, arms, and tail were still the same purple, almost magenta, color, but the chest of my hoodie was torn and caked in dried blood. At that moment, it didn't matter.
"Hello! Is anyone there? Please speak to me!"
Nothing.
"Please, is anyone in there?"
The room stayed still and silent as my voice echoed into it.
"I need someone to tell me," I whispered, and my burning eyes emphasized it.
I kept repeating the same words over and over again, hoping to get at least another groan. The world around me grew darker and stiller as I broke down. I held my head against the wall before slouching over and sitting down on the cement. I buried my head in my legs. My arms were crossed on my knees like a shield, ready to defend myself from whatever troubles come my way. They moved to shield my head to protect me from a world crashing down above me.
I tried to remember all of the good times I had with my friends, to calm me down and give me some semblance of hope. In reality, I broke down further, eventually considering beating my head on the door to forget. If it wasn't for my actions, we wouldn't be stuck here in a living hell. If only I had just ignored that stupid box, none of this would have happened.
No, it wasn't my actions. It was me.
It was that I was different, wasn't it?
I was just a stupid mutt that should have kept his mouth shut and suffered in silence while his friends enjoyed their lives.
I don't deserve happiness.
I don't deserve pity.
I was impure.
He was right. God must have hated me for being who I was.
An inhuman monster.
I tried to think back to when this whole thing started, a few weeks ago, just to keep my sanity still.