Hi guys! This is my first ever mini story! It's basically a 1 or 2 chapter thing, but please enjoy!

At first I thought it was a cat. Something scampering around in the dark, scrounging for food, looking for a place to sleep the night. But this is my patch. My food. My home. Except it's not a home as you think it would be, it's a place in the middle of nowhere that no one goes to, ever. A cat may be welcome but then it'll just make surviving harder. And that is my No.1 priority at the moment; and I have a feeling that it will be until the day I die. Even though when that day comes I'll probably greet death with open arms.

Looking around the Dump-hole I don't see any movement. Or a figure of some kind. 8 months ago I would told myself: 'I must be imagining things', but now I know better. When you hear something, it's there. It's always there. Something either evil or innocent, or just scared like me. Part of me wants to see what it is, but a stronger part of me is saying that I'm too weak. Instinct would tell you to keep yourself safe, to run, but logic is telling you that that's impossible, that it's even pointless to try. And logic is getting the better of me. And logic is nearly almost right.

I hear a rustle and it comes from one of the garbage bags in the corner. From inside the garbage bag in the corner. Relief flows through my organs. I can breathe. It must be something as small as a rat, as tiny as a mouse, to be inside of the bag and not make that much of a hassle. It's just a scrounging pest like me. I'll deal with it in the morning. It'll probably be gone in the morning. The rodent will move on and find another hidey-hole, however I think I'll stay in this dump for a long time. I probably won't even move more than two feet for ages. Damn stupid logic, because in that situation – instinct would have been better.

Earlier this morning, I was starving and desperately needed food. It was horrible, feeling your stomach hollow and dry, like it had been rubbed all over with cinnamon and sand. I was drowsy, I had drunk something the day before and think it might have been alcohol. Stumbling around in search of a mouthful of anything I heard voices. In a crevice very similar to my own were two people. One male youth and a thirty-year-old woman. The man was wearing a grey hoodie and had a mopey and dull attitude. The woman, due to the amount of clothes she was wearing, was potentially a prostitute and looked sickly, pale and had hollow look to her as if she would turn to ash. There was also a dog there. It looked like a Pitbull-Rottweiler cross but more like a wolf than any other dog. I was scared. The two people looked odd and suspicious. They were smoking something and dealing things that I bet were drugs. Illegal drugs. Scumbags I thought. They'd been wasting their life away on substances such as cannabis and LSD. I was about to move on when the guy took something out of his pocket and gave it to the woman. Then she gave him what looked like a whole band of money. Money that I needed. Money that could help me. Money that could save my life. It was a quick decision, and I made it without debate. I was small enough to sneak away successfully with the loot. He wouldn't notice, he was too drugged out.

I hid behind the dumpster that conveniently concealed me entirely and gave me a direct view on the two strangers. There was a small passage that I could squeeze through to get to the man's pocket. Slowly I started to inch my way across the passage, hardly daring to breathe, not even when I reached the end. There was a meter between me and my prize. But my arms weren't a meter long. I'm only 7 and I'm small for my age. I tried to reach out with my arm when he wasn't looking but it didn't work. I was starting to worry that it wouldn't work, that one of them would see me. Changing my original plan I crouched on all fours and crawled up to the man. Almost there. Just a foot away. A few inches... Yes, I had done it. All I needed to do was reach up and grab. First time was a no go. Second time was closer. Third time lucky – I cowered away as he turned in my direction. It was like playing rounders at school, either strike, out or hit. The fourth try was a hit. It was a great moment. The satisfying feeling of money in your fingers.

But now was not the time for exuberance.

I tried to edge along the passageway again, but I couldn't get back into the proper position to do so. Instead I tried to shuffle in front of the dumpster very slowly and carefully as if I were a scrounging animal. I was half a foot in when an empty can of something or other went tumbling out of a bag. I froze. I thought I was busted. But it turns out that the humans didn't hear anything. The dog did. The beast started growling, but it was unsure what at. The stench of drugs had probably damaged his smelling abilities. I carried on crawling, but much more steadily now, though I couldn't mask that I was shaking terribly. Fear was spreading like ice through my body, building up in my fingers. My breathing was far too loud, like my lungs were desperate for air, like they needed enough to satisfy me before I die. I thought I was going to die. My heart was going to explode from suspension and my ear drums were about to burst. There were so many butterflies in my stomach that I didn't even feel hungry.

I had passed the dumpster, but I needed to get around the corner, to make my way back to my home. Instinct was telling me to run because if I was quick enough they would pass me off as a rodent or a stray. But logic told me that that was risky and I was better off crawling. I was almost there when my foot ruffed against something and loads of metal objects went crashing to the hard pavement floor.

And everything happened at once.

The dog was barking madly, aggressively, like it had seen a traitor. Its feet were scraping at the ground like a bull about to charge, but it couldn't run as there was a metal chain around its neck. Finally, with teeth nashing, it could locate its victim.

The woman turned to look and in the daylight you could see how grotesque she was. Her skin was a grey colour, her mouth was wide open in shock and her tongue was lolling out. Her teeth were gritty and greenish. Her eyes were a disgusting yellow colour, but with golden flecks suggesting that her natural eye colour was hazel before she took drugs. Even though she was furious she only looked revolting and mildly surprised.

The youth yelled something, but I had no idea what it was as I had made a run for it. Frantic, I didn't know where to run even though my feet were telling me to just get out of there. Less than a millisecond later I heard a whooshing metallic noise and ducked weirdly just in time to dodge a knife aimed at my head. Horrified at the thought of being murdered I turned right and ran faster than I ever had in my life. It was like running from a dragon.

Then came the sound of fast paws and lunaticial barking. Daring a glance behind myself I saw the beast, the wolf, the mongrel chasing after me. I knew, just knew, that if I didn't get myself safe then it was prepared to kill. It was like a vicious, violent streak of tan and black pelting towards me at full speed. It was hard to take in air, you can't breathe while you sprint. My feet were aching, I was still wearing my school socks and shoes from 8 months ago. Not concentrating on where I was going I tripped on the hard gravel floor. Scrambling back to my feet I knew it was too late. The mortifying sound of ragged panting was in my ears. It pounced on me. I wriggled upwards. It took a bite in my shoe and tore it from my foot. Then the hound clamped its jaws on it and thrashed around. But it knew. It realised that that wasn't its true purpose. It wanted something fleshy, with hot warm blood, something alive, like me.

It stalked up to me, I was too fragile to move. My ragged and cramped school shoe from 8 months ago was lying meters away from me, as if the dog had threw it aside meaninglessly. I could hear it growling ferociously, hungry for blood. I started scampering up, I needed to get away. There was still time. But the mongrel knew better. It began to belt towards me.

And if I thought that starving was painful, then the next part must have been hell.

What felt like four razored daggers were plunged into my calf, ripping tissue and sinew, right down to the bone. It was agonising. It stung. It burned. It was unbearable. I screamed a horrific scream that was stifled. Stifled because of the tears in my eyes. My fingers were rigid and my hands were in fists. I tried to kick it off but it only tore more of my body off. I writhed on the floor in mortal pain. It was more unendurable than the physical pain of starving to death slowly over the past 8 months. More mentally painful that being neglected by your own family and having to live a rough and torn life. Hot red blood came dribbling and splurging out of my wounds, sticky like treacle. It coated the whole of my leg like butter on toast, spreading endlessly, painting the whole of the canvas. If I were to look all I would see was red.

I heard a scraping noise and a shot of pain ran though me, my bone had been altered. Either snapped, moved, bitten, torn, I don't know but it hurt. I screamed again, but my vision had gone blurry, I was losing focus. Pleading, crying, I started to move, but failed. The dog had clamped onto my calf and tried to rip it off. It was thrashing around and making me scream but my leg wouldn't budge. I was on the edge of having a limb torn from me when something strange happened.

There was a yelp and a crash. My leg was lying distortedly and out of place. I rolled lifelessly over and saw that the dog was metres away, lying dead on the floor. No-one was around me, so no-one could have hit it from me. All around me was a pool of blood, still warm. But it was there. Right in front of me – the hammer. It looked too big to be a hammer, but it couldn't have been anything else. It wasn't the tool type, more like a stubby sledge hammer. The handle was short and dark, but the other bit was massive, like a slab of granite. It was a cuboid and as if made of rock. It looked way too heavy for anyone to lift. Ignoring it entirely I crawled away, left for dead, in my hole.

And here I am now. And there it still is. The hammer. The way-too-heavy-hammer. I thought that I would have died in my sleep, but here I am, alive and un-healthy. Staring at it now I feel an attraction towards it. Like I want to touch it. It saved my life after all. My body feels as if it's frozen into place, like my bones are gridlocked. Steadily I move my arm, and carefully afterwards the rest of me. On moving my injured leg though I crumple under its pain. This nightmare will overcome me. I stagger onwards towards the hammer and slump against it. I put my hand around the handle and heave.

But nothing happens.

I thought something would, but nothing does. I try, but I feel the blood drain from my head and stop. Come on, please, you chose me, or was it an accident that you saved my life? Can't you grant this one of any wishes for me? I take a few breathes. It probably won't work. I know it won't. But I feel a strange pulling feeling, like a magnet attracting a paperclip. I wrap my hands around it and grip. And I pull. And I feel it lift off the ground.

In awe I stare at it. Using it as a stool I pick myself up as high as I can. Holding it, it feels really light. But it all happens too fast and my visions fuzzes before my eyes and I fall. My head smacks against the stone and all the blood and water and liquid leaks out of me. This is my end. I can't move and I'm dying. Freedom is close now, I knew it wouldn't be too long. I am a leaf that has finally fallen to the ground.

My eyelids are heavy, heavier than the hammer. I can feel my soul phasing out of my skin. I stop breathing, there's no need to breathe anymore. I think of my mum, how she was kind, how she was sweet, and how one day she was drunk. One day she turned and hit me. One day she got a knife and did things with it. One night her friends came home and they tried to do things. And how I ran. How she told me to go and never come back. How I was still wearing my school socks and shoes, my party dress and my favourite cardigan. The one my mother gave me. Not the monster that beat me.

It was only by chance that while swimming in a pool of my own thoughts that I saw a man swoop down onto the pavement. He had flowy blonde hair and a muscular face. He was wearing what seemed to be armour almost, like chainmail, and a cape. He came over to me, and my last sights in the flesh were his curious face as he looked at me, the hammer in my hand, how he knelt down and picked it up, and his eyes look over at my mauled calf. My eyelids closed for the last time, and I knew that I was finally leaving the mortal world behind.

So that was my first ever Mini Story! Hope you liked it! Please Favourite/follow/review! A review always gives a writer a boost so leave comments! I really enjoyed writing this so if you like it let me know and maybe I'll do more...