Storymania - Winston (Part 1) by Wolfa

Winston (Part 1)
Wolfa

Dark. Cold. Wet. Warped. This underground room stank like a dungeon, a single bare bulb flickering erratically from the low ceiling. Rows of cages lined the walls, some empty, some not. Piles of rotting garbage and other things obscured the floor. Flies buzzed around the carcass of a dead puppy in the corner, picking its eyes out. Walking along the rows of dark cages, Rubio peered inside each, checking all the dogs there. As he passed they lunged, throwing themselves recklessly against the bars like mad dogs, teeth and eyes flashing in the gloom. A few lay motionless, eyes closed. He paused for a moment at each of these, checking to see that their narrow sides still rose and fell. The ribs showed stark underneath the matted, patchy fur.
��One cage was separate from all the others, in the farthest corner, in the deepest dark. Rubio stopped there for a long moment, staring inside. A hulking silence.
��"You awake, you bastard?"
��Silence, then, a rasping, sucking breath. Yellow eyes flashed pale in the darkness as the dog moved closer to the bars. There was a low, rumbling snarl.
��Rubio laughed. "You shoulda known you could never get away from me. Too good to lose, ha."
��The snarl intensified.
��"Damn Rich not gonna know what hit him. Lost too much money to that damn dog of his." Rubio laughed again, scornfully, at the snarling dog in the cage. "Your turn soon. Rip that poor motherfucker apart for me, eh."
��Rubio walked away, out of the darkness and into the wan light of the corridor, still laughing. Behind him the malevolent pale gaze did not waver, the dog watching silently as the master left.

Out in the sandy pit, lights blazed fiercely. It stank of sweat, fear, expectation. The spectators were eager for this fight. This dog was a champion and he looked it; they loved to see him rip apart challengers. He was owned by a Rich Man with a passion for dogfighting. Rubio hadn't had a champion for a long time now, not since he sold his Ripper to the Rich Man. The dog in question, Powerman, was a monster, bred for size and ferocity. He was fully 85 pounds, mainly white with splotches of red across his back and shoulders. His head was huge and pure white, with tiny squinted eyes, that gave him a vicious look. Powerman had won many fights in the city. Right now he was lunging and rearing against the man who held his chain, lashing out with his forepaws like a boxer, eager to fight. The dog was impressive.
��Rubio, reaching the wall of the pit, eyed the monster pit bull with disinterest.
��"Well? Where's your new dog, eh Rubio?" Carl, the Rich Man. Rubio hated him. He was short and gnome-like, with sweaty palms. He also had an avid interest in fighting dogs, and bred them. Rubio had sold many of his best dogs to Carl, something he was now regretting. Carl's latest puppy was a vicious, insane, implacable fighter that had destroyed some of Rubio's best. But Carl was too confident this time. Rubio had a surprise waiting.
��Rubio waited a moment before responding. "This your best dog, Rich?"
��The Rich Man rubbed his hands together. "Don't fuck with me, Rubio. Where's the puppy?"
��"I don't know, how bout we test your dog first?"
��"You've seen him fight, Rubio, you scared? Want to wear my dog out first?"
��"Test him, or no go."
��Carl smirked. "Fine. He'll tear your mutt up anyways."
��Rubio signaled one of his men to bring out a bait dog. The bait dog, a half-grown puppy, was thrown into the pit with the roaring Powerman, and Powerman was released. Without a single bark Powerman lunged. The other dog yelped and tried to run, but went down with the massive Powerman's jaws locked around its neck. The spectators watched happily. Rubio watched silently.
��They dragged the mangled dog from the pit, and one of Carl's men grabbed Powerman and pulled him back.
��"All right. Get the dog," said Rubio flatly, ignoring the Rich Man's satisfied grin. Luis, one of Rubio's trusted helpers, went off to the dark room, far from the pit, where the pale-eyed dog waited in silence.
��It watched Luis enter, the catchpole held low, without blinking.

The time flies by backwards, flowers sprout and die, die and then live anew, rain clouds wash the land in darkness and then fade, the sun rises and sets a thousand times, gold streaks across the sky. The green open fields are dark and heavy with the promise of rain, sleeping unchanged through the years.

The mother dog watched the men talking with a weary eye, her puppies climbing over her sides and back. Already she was sick of them, but she snarled automatically as the men approached her. Her master, and one that was unfamiliar to her; he smelled of sweat and cigars. She watched him keenly with her grass-green eyes as he reached into the box and felt at the puppies. Most were white like her, or white and brindle.
��Rubio picked up a brindle-patched puppy, examined it critically. Already it had a large head. It would be huge. He considered it, then put the pup back in the box, looking at an all-white one. As he reached for it his hand brushed a large, all-brindle puppy, which promptly bit him. Rubio laughed and lifted it out of the box instead. The puppy squirmed fitfully, trying to escape, then sank its puppy teeth into his hand once more. Rubio shook it off and looked at it. It had the lines of a fighter, even more so than its patched brother. The puppy glared blearily at him, then started wriggling once more.
��"I'll take this one. Nasty little bastard," said Rubio fondly, holding the puppy by the scruff of its neck.
��"Twenty," said the owner.
��"Fine."
��The mother dog watched them go, yawned, and began to lick the patched puppy. It reeked of stale cigars.

I have been thinking, while they left me here in the dark. I have a lot of time to think. When I was younger, the hunger distracted me, but it is gone now. I am strong. Mostly I think about my Master. I wonder if humans bleed, like we do. I have never seen them bleed. I wonder how it would taste to sink my teeth into his throat and feel the blood rushing out. I wonder if it would taste salty and metallic, like dog, or if it would taste foul, like the things they used to train me. From the way he smells I am sure it would taste foul.
��I've thought about many things here, when I am alone in the dark, but the one thought that constantly occupies my mind is killing him. I imagine that he will stink of fear at the end, like the dogs I've killed. I want to shred his soft throat and stare into his eyes when the spark goes out and breathe his fear until he does not move any more and his spirit is gone. I want to breathe in his blood and stench while the world goes dark behind his eyelids. This is all I want out of life.
��I lie motionless in the cage; my world, listening with vague interest to the noises they make. I haven't fought for awhile now. I wonder what this means. Perhaps they've decided to use me as bait for some larger dog. I've never really thought about my own death. I don't fear it, though. It must be peaceful, like sleep. Or perhaps it is an eternity of pain. Maybe this is why those other dogs smelled so fearful. I wonder, vaguely, what they saw. But it does not really matter to me. Pain is what I know. I can fight pain. I am strong.
��Ah. Finally. Footsteps. I wait patient, my eyes open. By the sounds he makes I can tell it is my Master. Come for me. Yes. There is another man with him, the one they call Luis, with the catchpole. They are wary of me. They treat me with caution. They know what I can do. This is good.
��They lead me down the corridor, into the small room, where there is a bowl of food awaiting me. I have not eaten in three days, and although I know what is in the food, though I dread eating it, though the hunger no longer hurts me, my stomach seems to dictate my actions. I lunge towards the bowl and start eating frantically, gulping down the dog food that burns and tears my mouth and throat. It hurts with a fierce pain. They have put the crunching clear sharp bits in it, that rip open my tongue and throat, and the burning sauce that makes the wounds agony. And yet I cannot help but eat it. My body betrays me, and I am ashamed.
��I know why they do this to me. To make me angry. They know I would not fight otherwise. I learned long ago that killing other dogs was pointless, so they do this to me to make me vicious. Sometimes they burn me or hit me to make me angry. But usually they starve me and then feed me the burning food. My mouth hangs open, I drool helplessly, an automatic reaction. Then they drag me on, to the snarling dog and the sweating humans. I follow.

Rubio was somewhat worried about this fight. Ripper was his prize fighter; he hadn't lost yet, but Rubio was still worried. The Rich Man was bringing over a Class-A dog to fight against Ripper, and bets were high. Rubio hadn't yet seen Carl's dog in action, but he had heard it was good. Carl wouldn't risk it against Rubio's champ dog if it wasn't.
��Watching Ripper bolt down the ground-glass and tobasco sauce-spiked dog food, gagging on it as he ate, Rubio's fears subsided somewhat. The vicious pit bull puppy had grown into a monster, nearly 100 pounds of solid muscle, the biggest dog Rubio had ever owned. It was a beauty of a dog too, high angular cheekbones and pale, intelligent eyes giving it an unnervingly human face. It had the characteristically broad pit bull head and chest, solid reddish brindle except for an irregular white blaze on its chest. Rubio suspected that the animal had show dogs lurking somewhere in the dim recesses of its ancestry.
��Seeing the dog Carl had brought, Rubio was once more uncertain. "Killer", an all-black pitbull with a massive head. Killer stood unmoving on the pit floor, looking blandly at the approaching Ripper. Ripper heaved himself at the opposing dog and was restrained by Luis, clinging determinedly to Ripper's spiked collar.
��Rubio gave the signal, and both dogs were released. Killer was cautious, circling Ripper, staying out of the slightly larger dog's reach. And then, Killer bowed and leapt and the fight truly began. Ripper surged up, striking his shoulder against Killer's chest and knocking the black dog off balance. Killer staggered sideways, nearly falling, and the fight was as good as over. Displaying an astonishing agility, Ripper twisted in midair and smashed into Killer again. Both went down in a writhing pile of teeth and flashing eyes, Ripper using his superior weight to pin Killer to the floor while he throttled the dog. Rubio watched, inwardly relieved.
��Carl turned away, angry, as his men dragged the twitching, blood-soaked body of Killer off the pit floor. He smacked the money into Rubio's palm. It was soft, creased, sweat-soaked. Rubio stuffed it into his pocket with distaste. Carl had turned back to watch as Luis hauled Ripper away from the pit, the big dog snarling and making a half-hearted lunge for the man. Carl's face was twisted and ugly.
��"Hey Rubio, how much you want for that dog?"
��"Not for sale, Rich." Ha. Carl might be willing to pay a lot of money for the dog. Excellent.
��"I can give you a lot, man, how much you paid for him, 50? 80? It'll be a good profit."
��"I got plans for this dog."
��"200."
��"You know how much money this dog's made me? 5000."
��"1000."
��"3000."
��"2500, take it or leave it." Carl, waving the bills.
��Rubio grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. "Right. Come get him tomorrow."
��"I can get him now. We've got the van."
��Rubio shrugged. "Fine. It's your dog."

Rubio had warned them to use the catchpole, and they did. They used two. The dog was strong and angry, a man-hater, and they were wary. They managed to half-drag, half-shove the animal into the van and then into a large cage, inside the van. It rumbled at them from behind the bars for awhile, and eventually subsided. They waited to feed it until they had got all the way out of the city and into the countryside bordering the suburbs, where the Rich Man's place was. They didn't want the dog throwing up all over the van floor.
��They used tranquilizer on it to get it out of the van and out into the barren field, where the other dogs were chained. They removed the dozing pit bull's collar and slipped a chain over his head. The chain was staked to the ground. They dumped the dog on the ground and put a bowl of unspiked dog food in front of it. They left it there, and went back to the main building. The other dogs watched with interest, and then promptly forgot about it.

The world has changed, so much that I can hardly comprehend it. I never knew there was a world outside the pits, but there is. And it is a wonderful, maddening world! It is like my brain has exploded, and I have become as omniscient as a god! My old purpose is nearly forgotten. Rubio, my master, whose presence occupied my soul, is vanished from my mind, and all I can think about it this wonderful, incomprehensible new world.
��I never knew how weak I was when I was in the pit until I came here. I am fed once a day, usually, and the food is good. I can move and my legs feel good. I am not stiff and my old wounds have healed. Sometimes I lie in the soft green and feel the warmth on my body from above, and it is good. I sleep stretched out. I like to roll on this soft green stuff. It is cool in the warm air and it rubs against me. It is the softest thing I have ever known. The sky is enormous, and now I see that the world is enormous as well. It goes on forever and ever, farther than my eyes can see. It is impossible even for me to imagine how huge this world is. I like the way the ground grows hot in the middle of day, and stays hot even when it gets dark. The dark here is soft and heavy and kind. This is how I imagine death to be; peaceful and soft and dark and heavy, lying motionless, with nothing to look at but swirls of soft and gentle dark and the beautiful sparks of light, dancing far above.
��I am happy.
��The only thing that bothers me is this chain. It holds me down. I am beginning to feel quite cheated by these humans. They have shown me the world! They opened my mind and showed me this beautiful, endless world, and now they deny me it. I am stuck in place. The chain around my neck pins me to this spot, and I only have a circle in which to run. I am thankful that the chain is long, but it is still maddening to me. Once I realized that it was the chain holding me here, I tried to gnaw it off with my teeth, but it hurt my mouth and cut my lips. I continued trying anyways, but I eventually gave up hope. I hate the chain, but I'd rather keep my teeth.
��There are dogs here, and at first I thought I had to fight them. I observed them warily, then realized that they, too, are chained. Perhaps I do not have to fight here. The other dogs barked at me but did not show any signs of hostility. Most are bitches. I've only seen females of my species once or twice, and I've never been near them. Now I want to be near them. I want to run with them. I've never tolerated the company of other dogs, but new ideas and desires are exploding in my brain. Long ago, when I was still in the pit, I realized that the dog was not my enemy. Other dogs think this. They think that the dog before them, the dog that will kill them if they do not kill him first, is their enemy. I was young when I realized that it is not the dog who is my enemy, but the man who controls him. The man who controls me. Men are our enemies. The opposing dog is merely a threat to one's life.
��I will not fight. It's fading from me now, the memories of pain and viciousness. There are no men here, and no pits, and no stench of blood and fear and pain. There are only dogs, and the sweet grass and sun, and this beautifully empty world. The pits and my Master are locked safely away in the dark, sunken recesses of my memory. I've almost forgotten my purpose, to kill my Master. The frantic hunger for his death is fading, fading, fading. I still know, somewhere deep inside my heart, that I must kill him. It is what I was born for. But perhaps, here in this beautiful new world, there is another purpose waiting for me. Perhaps I have been reborn, to a new purpose. I hope so.
��I am happy.

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