People are like hounds, they sniff out your weakness, play with your pain, and will hunt you down until you worship them.
Like people, there are mean dogs and there are kind dogs. Some dogs are loyal, some will run away. Some will bite you, some will place their furry head in your lap and look up at you with melting eyes and ask for a bit of care. Some have rabies, and some play with children in the streets.
Like we do with hounds, we keep some people as pets. We don't realize it until it's too late and they've snapped their collar or leash and ran away. We keep some people: thinking we own them. We treat them like they're less than us, and expect them to love us unconditionally.
Perhaps we're wrong when we say animals do not have souls. Maybe animals have souls when people do not--because humanity is more heartless and vicious than any wild beast. We have malicious intent, animals do things to survive and thrive. We do things for good--but also for evil. Animals do for neither--they simply exist.
People and hounds are no different, really. Because when both kinds die, they end up in the same earth. And after years and years: they're left with the same thing.
Bones.
YOU ARE READING
HOUND
Short Story"People are like hounds, they sniff out your weakness, play with your pain, and will hunt you down until you worship them." WARNING: in some chapters, not all, there is adult content. You've been warned.
