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narrans · 2 years ago

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56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

PROMPT

56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

Humans can be wonderful, giving, accepting creatures. They can shine a light in the darkest of times, providing aid and stability to those who need it. They provide hope to the hopeless, meals to the hungry, and endure the most wicked and unfortunate of circumstances if it is for someone they love.

Perhaps that’s why they could justify treating us so poorly…

Their kindness simply ran out.

Their tolerance could only go so far.

The cruelty built up and needed a place to vent like steam from a compression chamber.

We - that is… us pets - are not human, even though the only thing that makes us different is our size. Pets are, in essence, much smaller humans, the tallest of us reaching only six-and-a-half or so inches tall - and that was saying something. I, myself, am a solid five and a fifth inches tall, but who is counting?

Certainly not my so-called owners.

They could care less about me with the way they treated me before discarding me – literally. Up until that point, I had never known that humans could be decent creatures.

I remember like it was yesterday when everything really began. After being trained and “properly conditioned,” I was sold to one family as a birthday present for a little girl as her first pet. It was terrifying. Instead of a gerbil or fish, they picked me.

Little did I know it was going to only get worse there for several years.

The girl who “owned” me was a brat through and through. Her screams were ear shattering, but her tendency to hit whatever wasn’t cooperating was far worse. The bruises on my body left me a purple-yellow lump most days. I lost count of how long I was with them honestly.

It wasn’t until she broke my arm, however, that she decided to show me the only mercy I had ever received from her, but it was far from that at the time.

She threw me away.

She tossed me into that odorous hot pink tin can lined in thick black bags.

“Audrey! Please! Don’t do this. I-I-I-I’ll get better. Just…”

“Broken toys go in the trash. You are broken. So, you go in the trash. Good-bye.”

The lid snapped shut and, in a moment, I was plunged into darkness which lasted for hours. The last thing I saw were here dark eyes and wide toothy grin.

Haunting.

She was ten. She should’ve known better. No. She did know better and chose to do the wrong thing.

I slipped into unconsciousness from pain after trying several times to climb and claw my way out of the bag among the various snack bags that were half eaten. It was a miracle I didn’t slip into shock, because the next thing I knew was that I was being jostled around, taken out with the rest of the trash.

I tried shouting, but nothing happened; at least, nothing happened until the bag was still for a few more hours. While in the dark expanse of the bag, I felt another massive jostle again before the inside was flooded with light.

I remember my eyes adjusting just in time to see two pale green eyes widen before the impending digits of doom reached in after me. Trapped at the bottom of the bag and trying to protect my injured arm, I snapped out of my trance. I tried getting away and managed to land a solid punch on his finger, which, to my surprise, made his fingers retract.

“Woah, you’re alive?” he said in awe. My stomach churned as it sank into my hard plastic shoes. I remember kicking myself, thinking if only I had played dead in that moment, then I would be safe.

I’m glad I didn’t do that now.

Slowly, he tilted the bag and kept it propped open, speaking softly to me.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to make a grab for you. I just didn’t want to leave you in there like that. It’s not the decent thing to do,” he said. “You wanna come out of there? Or not ready to leave yet?” I wanted to sprint to safety, be left alone, and not have a broken arm to tend to, but I knew we pets never really got what we wanted.

Reluctantly, I stood and inched toward the entrance of the bag o he could just barely see me. My insides churned uneasily. I knew what was coming. I was going to be grabbed, bruises pinched between his fingers. There would be a breathless jolt that would whiplash my neck as I lifted up to his face so I could stare into eyes that were the size of my head. Only the most horrible fates danced before my eyes, but as I began the countdown to my demise, none came.

I kept counting just to pass the time as I continued to pinch my eyes shut.

Three… Two… One… Now.

No?

Three… Two… One… Now.

I breathed deeply and summoned what courage I could and squinted one eye open. Sadly, I didn’t manage a glance up and could only stare at his pants leg, which was horrendously dirty and looked like it was one of many layers he wore; and it was no wonder – it was freezing. His one hand hadn’t moved from the top of the bag, but that was all I could see at the time.

Heart racing out of my chest, I felt absolutely sick. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I suppressed a cough and choked back the feeling that was compressing my chest.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed something – anything – to relieve the tension.

I dared to look up, and immediately I met his two massive pale green eyes and a face that undoubtedly once was full of freckles.

One look and I knew he was examining me, eyes latching onto my injured arm that practically hung limply by my side in two places as well as the aged bruises mingled with the fresh.

I didn’t know what it was, but I knew the look in his eye immediately.

Disgust.

However, it wasn’t disgust at me. It was disgust for me.

I watched a protective presence radiate from him like waves of heat. In his eyes raged a distain and loathing for the one who hurt me. A lump the size of his fist formed in my throat.

Was it possible he felt pity? Sympathy?

No… it was empathy.

His other hand, which hadn’t made a grab for me, was in a brace of its own, and I saw a healing bruise on his cheek that was now a pale yellow. Somehow, he saw and understood everything I had gone through. It was a thought I had a few times before that people could be unkind toward one another, but I had never actually witnessed it happening.

I watched a coaxing smile curve his lips as he snapped himself out of whatever evaluation he just performed.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Bit banged up, are we? Let’s see what we can do about that.” He laid his hand on the ground for me to step onto, which was a new phenomenon for me since most humans would simply pinch my torso or wrap their sweaty fingers around my body. Thinking of no other option or alternative at the moment but to cling onto the thoughtful look in his pale green eyes, I stepped onto his fingers and sat down cross-legged in the center of his palm.

“It’s a tad cold out and I’ve got a little way to walk. Do you care for a pocket or shoulder in my hoodie?” he asked.

Wait…

He asked?

A choice?

“Um…” I fumbled, bracing my arm tighter against my body. A bitterly cold gust of wind whipped by. I didn’t want to be confined, but the pocket sounded warmer. Then again, I was already warming just by being near his hand. I did want to see where we were going.

As if he could read my mind, he asked, “Not used to choices?”

I shook my head.

“Figures,” he muttered, a hint of anger in his voice. “How about shoulder? I’ve got a scarf in my bag here. You can use it like a blanket.”

What kind of human was this?

I couldn’t help myself and nodded eagerly and, within no more than thirty seconds, he had wrapped his scarf around his neck and had nestled me safely in the folds of the fabric, pulling up his hood to protect the both of us from the wind.

Without another word, he stood and began walking down the street, tugging a backpack onto his back and walking briskly. I didn’t ask any questions, mind reeling from what was already happening.

I wanted to ask him questions. Where were we going? What was he going to do to me? Was he taking me to someone who would be my new “owner”? Or was he going to assume that role? Why was he hurt? How was he going to fix my arm? Was he going to fix it?

I decided against asking any of them though. I didn’t want to say something that might make him change his mind in helping me. He could easily chuck me into any of the trashcans that we passed by, landing me right where I started the day.

It was about an hour later when he seemed to spot what he was looking for and changed direction, now walking toward a part of a bridge guarded by a partially torn down metal fence. He slipped under with cat-like dexterity and climbed up the steep concrete pad until he was directly under the overpass.

He reached up and gestured for me to slip onto his hand.

“I need to get my area set up, and then we’ll take a look at that arm. Sound fair?” he asked. I decided to be compliant, though I wasn’t sure what this whole “area” was supposed to look like. He unraveled the scarf and set it off to the side, keeping me snuggly wrapped in it to keep me from being subjected to the wicked wind.

I could’ve run for it. I could’ve slipped away and slid down the concrete pad to freedom, but I didn’t move. It was already getting dark and there was no chance of me surviving the night with a broken arm and no supplies. Even with this stranger, I was still safer than I would be alone.

I watched curiously as he pulled his backpack off of his back and began assembling a one-person tent, a compact set of blankets, and a few lamps which he hung inside of his pale tan tent. He shoved his bag into the opening before poking his head out and looking back at me. I had to admit that I was a bit nervous, watching him make this tent and then move inside wordlessly without bringing me with him.

“Ready?” he asked. I wasn’t sure. Was I ready? Still numb from the pain of my arm, I thought only for a minute before nodding and letting his hands cup either side of the scarf that surrounded me. He moved slowly and brought me into the tent where he set me on top of his backpack, a scuffed medical kit resting in his lap.

I didn’t get a good look, but I saw there were dozens of tools on one side of his kit, and they were all tools I had seen in my life. They were small tools – perfect for pets like me. Unease crept into my chest. Why did he have these tools? They looked professional, as if they came from a veterinarian’s office.

I shuddered as I watched his fingers reach inside and pull out some odd-looking tweezers.

“Now, let’s see about that arm,” he said. I recoiled immediately and shoved myself deeper into the fabric around me.

“No! You find someone else to play doctor on. I won’t have you practicing on me!” I shouted.

He sighed slowly and nodded a few times but didn’t try again. Was he frustrated with me? Or was he thinking of something to say. I got my answer when he spoke directly to me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Look, I’m not here to play doctor and know a thing or two about setting small bones. Believe me. Fingers make good practice,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but I need you to trust me. You don’t want that arm just hanging there like that, unless you like having a nice jolt of pain every time something taps it the wrong way.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and curled in on myself, accidentally bumping my arm against my knee in the process. Would he work on my arm without my permission anyway? Was it better to give him permission or resist, demonstrating my free will?

Either way, my arm needed help and I was in no position to make it better.

“Fine,” I muttered. He moved his fingers closer and slipped his finger under my injured arm. His keen, pale-green eyes absorbed every detail of my arm, flicking every so often to the other scars on my body.

He lifted his hand again and I slid onto the columns of flesh clumsily, abandoning my warm spot by his neck and jostling my arm in the process. He set me down on the table which had several long-dried coffee stains and spilled sugar crystals. I sat there on the desk while he washed his hand and came back.

“Feel like telling me how this happened?” he asked as he began opening up the material he’d need to brace my arm.

“Tell me about yours first,” I snapped, regretting my tone immediately for fear of punishment. His pale green eyes flicked up to my own, and my heartrate spiked just for a moment before he sighed.

“My dad. Finally decided to defend myself and got hurt in the process. Now, your turn,” said Bruce. Defend himself? Against his father? There was definitely more than met the eye with this guy, but I could see he was waiting for my response, and I guess I owed him that much.

“Kid,” I spat. “She wanted my arm to bend the other way like all of her other dolls.”

“Yikes, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Humans are terrible, but bratty kids are some of the worst. May I?” His fingers approached, gesturing for me to place my broken arm onto the pads of his fingers. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Every part of me was shaking, but I had calmed down from my outburst a few minutes ago just enough to lift my arm and lay it against the tips of his fingers. He kept his pale green eyes on me and better examined my injury.

“I’m Bruce by the way. I assume that kid gave you some ridiculous name? Or do you have a name that you’d like me to use instead?” he asked.

“You don’t want to claim your right to that?” I asked bitterly. Bruce scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Naw, I’m good. I’d rather hear what your parents named you,” said Bruce. I looked up at him, sensing he was being genuine. At least he had the decency of asking what my parents named me instead of what the training facility decided to call me. Did he know we actually had parents and weren’t just grown in a lab?

Fine. It was the least I could do since he did save my life.

“Pip. Just Pip,” I said.

“Like Pippy Longstocking? Or Pip like Pippen from Lord of the Rings?” asked Bruce.

“I don’t know,” I said, taken aback by his question. Was there a difference? Did my parents know the difference? “I like the sound of the Lord of the Rings one better though.”

“Me too,” said Bruce. His nimble fingers worked swiftly and, before I knew it, my arm was braced between fragments of popsicle sticks, string, and pieces of a cut shirt. Despite the size of his fingers, he was tender and careful. After I was bandaged up, arm in a sling, I stared at him as he carefully broke apart a pill meant for killing the pain and handed it to me. He also gave me some water to take with it as he began making some kind of dinner for himself, which came in those odd-packaged noodles.

We ended up eating in silence after I took the medicine before I summoned the courage to ask him about why he was out here on his own in a tent instead of a home. I had an idea of what happened when he mentioned his arm, but I wanted to hear it from him directly.

Turned out that he knew a little something about the viciousness of humans and empathized with the abuse pets suffered daily. His father was a cruel man, especially after his wife left him, leaving Bruce behind to endure alone. We compared scars and injuries, though I had to admit that Bruce’s injuries surpassed my own, which was surprising.

It was only because of the kindness of one other, a veterinarian who helped him through the darkest times in his life, that he was where he was in life. It was this veterinarian who he was going to go live with once he made it to his final destination. Bruce explained that his father made him move out of state “for a change of scenery” after his mother left, and Bruce finally had enough and was going back to live with the veterinarian.

I found myself endeared to him after hearing this story. Not only had this veterinarian helped Bruce, but he also helped him learn the skills necessary to help pets like me. He helped him see that there was no difference between us, and for this I would be forever grateful.

After talking well into the night, Bruce offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. Sadly, I had nowhere else to go. Bruce then offered me to stay with him, traveling as companions and not as pet and human. Whole-heartedly, I accepted and drifted off to sleep just under his chin when it was time for bed.

This was the start to something wonderful.

For the next four months, we traveled together in the most peculiar circumstances. We slept in odd places like under bridges and in parks in the evenings, and we used public electricity to charge his batteries. Sometimes, he collected cans or other odd ends for cash if he didn’t work the odd job. Never did he beg along the side of the road like the other nomads we came across while traveling.

While on the road, we came across more than just other people like Bruce. We came across others like me who were down and out, rejected, thrown away, or simple runaways. We soon found ourselves moving in an entire group of five, bringing three other pets along for the ride – Volley, Lowe, and Flick.

We made up the “Fantastic Five,” collecting spare change and living life on the road as we made our way across the country from one coast to the next. It was a good time for all of us. Late night talks and dream – real dreams – about the future. It was something none of us were really used to when given the chance.

For the first time, I let myself dream. I dreamt about walking on the beach and seeing an ocean sunset. The others had dreams of going to school, becoming an inventor, and even becoming a chef. Some of these dreams felt farfetched, but it was the fact that we could let ourselves dream that made the time worthwhile.

Of course, dreams were not the only things that made up our world. On our travels through the human world, there were still dangers and cruel humans. More often than not, Bruce had to fight away different humans so they would stay away from his things and, more importantly, away from us.

One particular individual, David, became a particular nuisance when we had to stay in the same campsite for a few weeks while Bruce gathered up enough money to stock up a decent supply of dried goods before making one of the longest treks of our journey yet. David would often sneak into or around the camp, pinching things from others’ campsites and claiming he didn’t steal anything when confronted.

Bruce, along with myself and the other three, were onto him from the moment Bruce set up his tent, and we were very careful to make sure to keep an eye out for David. From the moment that slimy git greeted us with a hello, I knew he was going to be trouble.

It wasn’t until one particularly warm morning, however, that everything happened.

I woke up, stretching into the warm spot by Bruce’s neck that I had grown accustomed to, and saw a shadow lurking nearby. I shoved the others awake and tugged on Bruce’s earlobe until he woke up.

“Hm? What’s going on?” he murmured sleepily, rolling over onto his back. The moment Bruce spoke, the shadow quickly vanished away from the side of the tent, and we were left alone once again.

“Pip? You see that?” asked Flick, rubbing his curly brown hair out of his eyes as he looked up toward the top beams of the tent.

“Yeah. Why’d you think I woke you up? I think it’s David again,” I said quickly, making sure Bruce could hear. In a moment, Bruce was sitting upright and was crouched by the edge of his tent, listening intently.

“You sure it was him? It might’ve been someone passing by,” suggested Bruce.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know if it would be anyone else other than him,” I replied hastily, hoping I hadn’t raised the alarm for no particular reason.

“Well, did you see where he went?” asked Bruce. His hand lowered and, without hesitation, I stepped on and sat up on top of his shoulder so we could speak quickly and quietly without others hearing.

“No, but hopefully he’ll go bother someone else,” I said as softly as I could into Bruce’s ear.

“All the same, I think we should get out of here. Maybe it was him and maybe not. Regardless, we should get moving anyway. Besides, unless he really wants something of mine, David won’t follow,” said Bruce. I nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see me directly. “I’m going to fill up my water container and then we’ll be off.”

Without another word, Bruce quickly packed up his things and dismantled the tent, setting everything into his pack. The water spicket was only sixty or so feet away, which was quite a fair distance for a pet like me and my fellow companions, but it was, as Bruce would say, a “stone’s throw,” away from us. He would be gone from us for maybe thirty seconds and David was nowhere in sight, which was a relief.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured as he moved quickly to the water spicket with his collection of empty containers.

The others and myself assumed our positions along his bag, slipping into pockets and securing our lines onto the edges of his bag, all while keeping an eye out for anyone approaching. My eyes were pealed sharp. I was keeping a close eye out – or so I thought.

One moment, my eyes were fixed on the nomadic campsite and Bruce mere steps away. In the next moment, the bag we were all on was being hoisted up into the air, jostling with the force of someone running away quickly. My head whipped around and felt my insides drop as I recognized the dark, matted hair on David’s head. I heard the others cry out indistinctly, and I knew in an instant we were in trouble.

Doing the only thing I could think of, I called out as loud as I could for the one person who I knew would be able to help.

“Bruce!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Bruce!”

Did he hear me? Did he even notice? All I knew was that I had to hang on within an inch of my life as my friends and I were jostled, thrown and bounced within an inch of our lives. My once broken arm ached with the force with which I tried clinging to the bag.

The nomadic campsite vanished from view as the thief darted from street to street with us in tow. A sick, churning feeling seized my insides. What was going to happen to us if Bruce didn’t follow or find us in time? More importantly, how were we going to help Bruce find his things and find us?

I didn’t have to worry or think for very long. Once we were a few streets over, David stopped running and threw the bag carelessly on the ground. We landed hard against the pavement, making my bones ache. The others cried out too, but I couldn’t see them from where I was on the top of the bag. Something else seized my attention – literally.

I was pinched harshly between the grubby fingers of the thieving human and was hoisted up into the air. I could smell the decay off of David’s breath as he squinted at me.

“Ah, I forgot about you little twerps,” he muttered. I glared up at him and squirmed in his grip, trying to get free.

“Get off of me and leave Bruce’s things alone!” I demanded. My insides were suddenly squeezed within an inch of my life. I gasped for air, trying to remember how to bring air back into my lungs.

“You making demands of me, pet?” he scoffed. “Squeaking and mewling all of your complaints. It’s a wonder why he keeps vermin like you around. I think I’ll do him a favor and exterminate the lot of you. One less mouth to feed.”

I felt his fingers start to tense around me again. My vision started to blacken. Every part of me screamed, and a shout of pain escaped my own body. The others were shouting, demanding for me to be released, but it did nothing for me. My vision darkened and I could see nothing.

Suddenly, I was completely weightless. What was going on? Was this dying? A jostled landing and a sudden relief let me bring air into my lungs again. I felt hands my size tapping my face and grasping onto my shoulders once feeling returned to my body.

I also heard a roaring shout from a voice I recognized all too well.

“Let go of her! And leave us alone!” shouted Bruce. There were sounds of dull thudding as David tried to fight back.

“Ow! Stop it! I was just looking after your stuff. I was afraid someone would st-”

“I’m not stupid! You picked the wrong guy to mess with! Don’t you ever come near my friends again, you hear me?” Bruce roared as his blurry form pounded David with his fists. David began to stumble away and retreat, wiping the blood away from his lips.

“Geez! They’re just vermin. They don’t feel…” Bruce grabbed the nearest rock and hucked it at David’s head as the other human ran away.

“If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the s*** outta you!” yelled Bruce. Thankfully, my vision returned in time to see the faces of the other three and Bruce hovering above me.

“Are you alright?” asked Flick as he began checking out my once injured arm. Volley lifted me up just enough for Bruce to lift me up into his palm. I sank into the warmth of his fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” I moaned, clutching my sides that I knew would have finger shaped bruises on them.

“Not until we’re far away from here,” Bruce muttered. “Come on. We need to get going before David decides to come back.”

We loaded up once again on the bag while Bruce carried me in his hand until I was well enough to sit up on my own on his shoulder. It wasn’t until we were several hours into our walk that I realized that I hadn’t thanked Bruce. I looked up and over at him, leaning into the crook of his neck and tugged on his earlobe to get his attention.

“Hey, Bruce. I meant to say it earlier, but thank you,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” said Bruce. “It’s the least I could do for a friend.”

I smiled to myself and curled in tighter. Bruce reached up and gently brushed his fingers against my side.

Friend.

What a human term, but what could be more fitting for us and our merry band.

The days were long, but we soon found ourselves on the doorstep of Bruce’s mentor and friend. The vet was an interesting man, but we – the other pets – took a liking to him almost instantly. We also took a liking to, as he called them, “house guests,” which were other pets like the three of us. Settling in took no time but, at the end of the day, there was no place I would rather be than by Bruce’s side, nestled into his neck as I had done for so long.

Humans are such interesting beings, capable of great evil and kindness. I was blessed enough to find one who knew cruelty and chose kindness instead.

We all have a choice, and now I choose to be happy.

94 notes · View notes

narrans · 2 years ago

Note

57). "I'm not letting you leave."

for the writing prompts. enjoy november's writing!

PROMPT

57). "I'm not letting you leave."

It was a perfect night to stay in and do absolutely nothing. Flurries of snow were drifting from the sky, starting to stick to the rapidly freezing ground and form beautiful patterns of ice on the blades of grass and windowpanes of the Lowe household.

Marissa couldn’t remember the last time she had a night off from work; or, rather, the last time she had given herself a night off from work. She was a freelance writer, specializing in astrology. She fancied herself a professional astrologer, but writing was a better guaranteed income than having her own personal blog on the matter.

Cup of coffee by the window along with a mountain of blankets and a forensic based crime novel she was dying to read, Marissa had everything in place for her perfect night in. The dark brown liquid swirled, ribbons of steam dancing on the surface as Marissa settled into her chair.

It had been a long time since it had snowed in autumn like this, and she wasn’t going to miss this first snowfall. Besides, her astrological chart said that there would be unexpected things happening his night, and she was ready to embrace them by taking a calm night to herself. If something was going to happen, she didn’t want to interrupt her work schedule to do it.

Fingers curled around her Pisces styled mug, she inhaled the fragrance of her coffee and stared out at her back yard. For nearly an hour, she watched the flurrying snow as it drifted peacefully through the sky and onto the patches of grass in her yard.

Marissa moved onto her book, but had barely cracked the spine when she saw the motion sensor by the back of the fence line trip, sending a blinding light across the lawn. Instantly, she felt a spurt of guilt fill her chest. Here she was enjoying her evening and she completely forgot to put out a cup of food for the local stray cat that she insisted to herself “wasn’t hers.”

“Hang on, Kitty,” she muttered as she wrestled the blankets off of her and shuffled off to the pantry for the cat food cup. Wrapping a blanket over her shoulders, she braced herself for the blistering cold and threw open the door.

Her breath turned into a poofy white cloud in front of her lips and nose as she exhaled and scurried across the porch to the plastic bowl, which was quickly filling with snow.

“Kitty!” she called as she tipped the bowl of snow out and replaced the frozen flakes with kibble. “Here Kitty! Dinner’s out!” Marissa stared out at the fence line, but saw no feline companion trudging its way through the yard to the straw filled box next to the food dish.

Weird, Marissa thought. Usually one call was enough to summon the cat to her side.

“Kitty!” Marissa called again. Still, no response. Now meow. No snow crunch under its soft, black-tipped paws. What did catch her ear, however, was a low moan. Marissa stopped dead in her tracks back to her warm couch, not daring to breathe, as she strained her ears to hear it again.

A knot seized her insides. What was that sound? Was the cat hurt? Was something else out there hurt? It didn’t sound like a feline noise, but it did sound distressed.

Naturally, she walked out into the yard and followed the noise all the way to the fence line when it stopped.

Am I hearing things? I’m sure I heard something over here, wondered Marissa. She held her breath and, hearing nothing again, turned to leave when she heard it again. It was a low, agonizing moan coming from the base of the fence by her garden.

Marissa, driven by curiosity, crouched by the beams of wood near some upturned flowerpots where the sound was the loudest.

Then, to her astonishment, she saw the source of the sound.

Two pets were crouched in the flowerpot huddled against the back away from the wind. Their wide eyes stared back at her in wild panic like that of cornered, helpless animals.

Marissa had always been curious about these human-like biological constructions society fawned over so much, but had rarely interacted directly with one herself on a regular basis. She had friends who had pets when she was growing up, but they were usually unsociable and hiding in their sleep spot in their cages when she was over.

Taking her childhood experiences and straining to remember how to handle these hand-sized humanoid creatures, she snapped a few times and made kissy sounds like how she did for Kitty.

“Come on. It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you,” she said gently as she began reaching her hand through the opening of the flowerpot.

“Stay back!” the one spat, obviously male by the sound of it. Marissa couldn’t see either of them well, but she did know the one who spoke swung something at her outstretched fingers.

“No, no. Shhh… it’s okay. Come here now. That’s a good boy,” coaxed Marissa as she reached in slower this time. The one stepped back to take a swing, obviously guarding the other, when Marissa heard a low moan come from the other, who she now knew to be female. The more violent one was obviously torn between acting in self-defense or helping the other, ultimately choosing to help.

“Shhh… Tsu… it’s okay. Breathe,” he coaxed. “Remember. Low tones.”

Low tones? What on earth… wondered Marissa. She squinted at the two pets inside and, with her eyes adjusting slightly, saw the one was hunkered over, stomach protruding in a round, pregnant belly.

“Oh… oh you poor babies. Your owners left you outside in this weather? And in this condition? Shameful,” said Marissa, more to herself than to anyone in particular. The male pet, however, heard and snapped as the female continued to moan.

“Don’t talk about us like we were some common mutt off of the street, woman,” he snarled. Marissa felt taken aback. She didn’t expect a pet to be so unfriendly.

Maybe it’s just stressed, she thought.

Now faced with a dilemma, Marissa had to debate on her next action. She could leave the two pets alone while they were distressed in the quickly declining weather or she could try to bring them inside and risk personal injury while securing their survival.

She made her decision.

The one was hurt and needed help. So, moving slowly, she instead picked up the flowerpot the two of them were in as carefully as she could and tilted it upright so they wouldn’t fall out. She was instantly met with two sharp shouts of surprise as the pets’ footing was shifted beneath them.

“Woah! Stop! What are you doing? Just leave us alo-…” The male was cut short by the female’s voice.

“George! Help me… please…” she whimpered.

Marissa, now in better light, saw the pale, narrow features of the blonde haired, blue-eyed male scowl at her before tending to the female beside him, crouching and letting her clutch the color out of his hand.

She stepped quickly back across the yard and slipped into her home. The warmth was sweltering after being in the cold for such a brief time, but Marissa knew it would pass soon.

Marissa looked down into the flowerpot, which was now filled with her warm kitchen lighting. The two pets, in a word, looked rough. Obviously exhausted and hungry, they stayed huddled together at the bottom of the flowerpot, the male clearly trying to shield the female with his thin frame.

“Aww… you two are so cute,” Marissa cooed. “Come on. Let’s get you out of there. Marissa, once again, reached carefully into the flowerpot, now able to see the object the male, called George, was only a twig. With one fluid motion, she plucked him out of the pot and held him pinched between her thumb and index finger. The female cried in panic as Marissa held George. He squirmed and thrashed, trying desperately to pry Marissa’s fingers off of his body.

“Shh… it’s okay. I know you’re scared. I’m just moving you to a better spot, okay? That’s a good boy,” Marissa cooed gently, trying to calm him down. All the while, she wondered why he was so uneasy. She was just moving him to a cleaner container.

Shouldn’t he be used to being handled? Didn’t pets get obedience training? What had him so on edge? Was it because of the female? Were they mates? Did they even allow that sort of thing? He was probably distraught because he felt a sense of duty to protect her, right?

She pulled out a clear plastic Tupperware piece and placed him inside. Now that they were separated, she could see the female was in worse condition than she thought before.

The female pet slumped against the edge of the flowerpot and howled in pain as she clutched her stomach, her flowing dark hair hiding her features.

“Yikes… that’s not good,” muttered Marissa. “You know… I’m playing this safe. To the vet it is. I’ll be right back.”

She barely made it two steps away, however, when she heard to two pets talking.

“George! Please! Don’t let her take me. I-I-I I can’t do this without you,” the female, Tsu, sobbed.

“Hang on! I’m getting out of here. Just breathe, Tsu!”

Marissa wasn’t sure what made her pause and really listen to the two pets as Tsu howled again through a set of what Marissa guessed were contractions and George walked her through it. Marissa felt wave after wave of confliction overwhelming her, mostly by the way the two of them sounded and acted so… human….

Marissa walked back to the two containers to see that George had managed to slip ou of the hard plastic container Marissa placed him in and was now pressing himself against the flowerpot, trying to figure out how to get back to Tsu.

The moment he spotted Marissa, however, he physically shrunk back but stayed close to the flowerpot. In a valiant spark of bravery, he then stepped forward and between Marissa and the flowerpot, standing between them. His chest heaved in breath after breath, but his resolve was obvious.

“Please,” he shouted. “Listen to me.” George looked like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Hey, buddy, I… I’m sorry, but I need to take her,” said Marissa as she towered over him. Seeing the fear in his eyes, Marissa wondered if changing position would help. She crouched so she was now at eye-level with George, a gesture which obviously surprised him.

“I’m not letting you leave!” challenged George.

“She needs a vet,” argued Marissa gently, now talking to the five-and-a-half-inch pet.

“I know what to do. I’ve been studying for months and that monster we were with was a vet. Just leave it to me. Please,” pleaded George. “I can even direct you. Just… don’t take her from me… please… don’t take us to a vet…”

Marissa’s heart clenched as she stared into the pale blue eyes of the small man. Slowly, she nodded.

“Okay. Tell me what to do.”

Under George’s instruction, Marissa ran her kitchen sink full of warm water and lowered both pets into the bath. She then retrieved fresh washcloths, scissors, a paper clip, and a few other odds and ends as the two of them breathed through each contraction.

Tsu’s screams got louder until, at long last, another set of cries filled the air – the small cries of a newborn infant.

“It’s a girl!” Tsu sobbed as she clutched the child to her chest. “Our baby girl!”

Marissa couldn’t stop herself from wiping away a few tears of her own. The three of them floated together in the warm water of her sink until George reluctantly broke the barrier and began asking for the objected he had Marissa obtain.

Eventually, after more tearful sobs, Tsu let Marissa pick her and the new baby up into her palm and place them in the washcloths she had placed on a heating pad by the sink. George was next and frantically scrambled into Marissa’s hands to join Tsu and the baby. They huddled together under the washcloth wordlessly as Marissa tidied up her sink.

For the next hour, they kept themselves hidden away until resurfacing. The baby and woman, Tsu, were laying down, curled together in a cradling huddle. George, on the other hand, stayed awake and upright despite obviously on the verge of falling asleep with every blink of his eyes.

Marissa noticed, and cautiously began to address him.

“You’re tired. Why don’t you sleep?” suggested Marissa. The pet shook the sleep from his eyes in an instant and looked up at her, instinctively shifting to block Tsu and the child from her view. In response, he merely nodded once.

“I won’t sleep. I… can’t sleep…. You’ll separate us if I do,” said the male pet.

“George, is it?” asked Marissa. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t separate you.”

At this statement, he scoffed.

“That’s rich,” he muttered. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“I won’t though,” argued Marissa. “I… want to help.”

“Help? You could help by leaving us alone, but that’s a pipe dream at this point. You found us. You’ll try and find our so-called owner to return us, interfering with my family. But what could I expect? You’re human. Interfering is what you do,” spat George. He stared up bitterly at Marissa, but his intense glare died down after a few moments as his eyes drooped with sleep again.

“Was your… owner… cruel? Did he hurt you?” asked Marissa.

“Yes,” muttered George. “And it’s owners. Plural. She was kept by one and I was kept by another. They put us together because we are supposed to be compatible and make for good breeding. We fell in love and… now…”

George’s jaw clenched as he looked down at Tsu and the new child.

“Now this child – our child – is promised to some company because we’re supposed to produce intelligent offspring,” shuddered George. “Our child… our baby… she’s supposed to be taken away to start conditioning immediately. We’re supposed to supply the next generation of pets. Sickening…”

Marissa was absolutely mortified.

“What? But… couldn’t they just… I don’t know… engineer them?” asked Marissa. “I always thought pets were created, not bred.”

At this, George laughed sorrowfully.

“Poor, uneducated public. You don’t know the half of what really happens to us pets, do you?” he asked, looking up into Marissa’s eyes. “Do you know the cost per ‘pet’ the artificially manufacture versus the cost of hiring a good breeding line? The difference is astronomical, and that’s not including conditioning. Do you even know how we were constructed in the first place? I doubt it. It’s not something you find on the internet.”

“I… had not idea…”

“Of course not! You’re not meant to. If you knew a fraction of what was going on – what was really going on – you’d have nightmares for the rest of your life. I know we do. Instead, humans ignore the obvious, distracting themselves with playing dress-up with us and using us to inflate your sense of superiority,�� spat George.

Marissa felt sick to her stomach and choked back the bile rising in her throat. She suddenly realized what she had actually come across in her back yard.

“You two were running away? Escaping to try and start a new life with your baby?” asked Marissa. George nodded and brushed away a few strands of hair away from Tsu’s face. There was a loving tenderness Marissa hadn’t seen as he gazed at his sleeping companion.

“We wanted a life worth living,” he said softly. “Is that so wrong? To want to live as the sentient, small humans we are?”

Marissa felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. These two pets… no… these two people just wanted to live their lives. More importantly, they wanted to be free – and that was exactly what she was going to help them do.

“So, it’s settled then,” she said. “Astraea. That’s what you should name your baby.” George winced and glared up at her.

“Nothing is settled without our permission. And we are her parents. We will be naming her. I’m not letting another human decide…”

“It’s just a suggestion,” interrupted Marissa. “Astraea is a mythological Greek goddess of the stars and justice, and that’s what we will be doing from now on – all of us.”

George looked at her curiously, but was still bristled and defensive.

“Us?”

“Yes, us,” replied Marissa. “You’ve only known an unjust world, but you two and myself are going to change that. You are welcome to stay here in my home for as long as you want. I won’t stop you from leaving or from living your lives while you’re here. I have a spare bedroom we can convert or, if you want, we can find something a little more suitable for your size and we can keep that somewhere you won’t be bothered. Sound fair?”

George stared suspiciously at Marissa.

“And what do you want in exchange?” he asked. “The right to name our daughter? Do you want her for yourself?” Marissa didn’t like the accusatory tone, but didn’t blame him for keeping himself guarded.

“Information. If we are going to change how things are, you have to tell me everything that you’ve gone through. I’m a writer… well… astrologer by trade… but I think this story will definitely sell. At the very least, it’ll turn some heads and get some attention,” Marissa encouraged.

George thought about it for a moment before looking back up at her.

“And if I choose to be uncooperative and not provide this information?” he asked.

“Then nothing. You can still stay here for as long as you want – you and your whole family. I just thought you might want to tell your side of the story,” stated Marissa.

George thought silently for a time, looking pensively from Marissa to Tsu and the baby.

“We’ll need to discuss it,” he said sharply. “But it is a tempting offer. Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Marissa Lowe. It’s nice to meet you George,” Marissa reached forward with a single finger and shook George’s hand, which he extended after shying away from her approaching hand and evaluating Marissa’s intentions.

“Astraea, you say? It does have quite a regal tone,” George muttered as he leaned back and rested his weight onto his elbow, curling his body around Tsu and the baby. “Please… prove your one of the decent ones.”

Giving into the exhaustion plaguing his body, Marissa watched George slip into sleep, protectively wrapped around his family.

Well… what an interesting night. I guess something interesting did happen, thought Marissa. She began combing through her house for different things that the new forged family of three could use as clothes, bedding, and lodgings until they had a suitable home to live in.

What an interesting night this was… and what an interesting story this would make for her readers.

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