klaus_von_wolfstadt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dear_mun2012-05-11 07:47 pm
klaus_von_wolfstadt) wrote in dear_mun2012-05-11 07:47 pm
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Ever heard the story about how somethin' goes feral?
Take a good dog. Something supposedly precious. Something that thinks it's loved. Now watch his beloved companion, the one carrying the leash, tie him up. Good and tight. Then walk away.
That obedient, loyal, adoring- stupid creature. Heh.
...You know, they only do two things.
[Holds up one finger, first.]
The first; He'll sit. Stay. Wait. Forever.
Fuckin' lay down in that same damned spot the owner of his heart was last.
Willingly. The stupid thing wastes away. Starves. Dies. Eyes still locked open. Like it's lookin', longing, for someone who left 'em there, alone.
The second choice?
[A dark, low chuckle.]
All that...love it had. Has to go somewhere, you know? Has ta' spoil and sour. Get real bitter. Even for a good little mutt who's only known, wanted, the touch of one soft hand. Sometimes it's too much. Maybe a little madness sets in. Comes with choking back all the memories. Swallowing every good word that's gone to waste.
And a mad dog? With the rotten, bitter slop that was his unconditional little heart? He'll strangle himself on his leash until he breaks. Or it does.
Too bad that even if he's free- nothing feral's good. Not for anybody, anymore. He's broken. Ruined, really. Bites the hand that would feed. Anyone who gets near. Even itself. After all...
Hate. Real, ugly, brutal hate. It's the only thing a broken dog has left, now that hope's dead and buried.
Take a good dog. Something supposedly precious. Something that thinks it's loved. Now watch his beloved companion, the one carrying the leash, tie him up. Good and tight. Then walk away.
That obedient, loyal, adoring- stupid creature. Heh.
...You know, they only do two things.
[Holds up one finger, first.]
The first; He'll sit. Stay. Wait. Forever.
Fuckin' lay down in that same damned spot the owner of his heart was last.
Willingly. The stupid thing wastes away. Starves. Dies. Eyes still locked open. Like it's lookin', longing, for someone who left 'em there, alone.
The second choice?
[A dark, low chuckle.]
All that...love it had. Has to go somewhere, you know? Has ta' spoil and sour. Get real bitter. Even for a good little mutt who's only known, wanted, the touch of one soft hand. Sometimes it's too much. Maybe a little madness sets in. Comes with choking back all the memories. Swallowing every good word that's gone to waste.
And a mad dog? With the rotten, bitter slop that was his unconditional little heart? He'll strangle himself on his leash until he breaks. Or it does.
Too bad that even if he's free- nothing feral's good. Not for anybody, anymore. He's broken. Ruined, really. Bites the hand that would feed. Anyone who gets near. Even itself. After all...
Hate. Real, ugly, brutal hate. It's the only thing a broken dog has left, now that hope's dead and buried.