Stray Dog
Life's hard but he's alive. Tense muscle under rough, flea-chewed hide as he jumps from building to building, ignorant of the human dramas played out in heated homes beneath his sure footsteps. Here he knows no frustration, no collar nor hand of man. Alone, under the stars, and fueled by the stirring in his loins at the sight of the moon rising over this, his world.
Rain splatters his face, makes the tiles slippery, but his whole life has been a fight and he won't look down at his feet, even now. Bounding and leaping onwards, higher, towards the sky where his heart can be at rest, each time he falls to earth and rushes forwards again. He has forgotten where he was headed, his hair whipping against his face as it falls about his shoulders, but he doesn't give a shit. It's all about the chase right now. None of you would understand. Get back, he's dangerous tonight!
There are others, who come and go. You cannot rely on them. Still, companionship is an ideal, and he dreams yet of the girl beside him, her body cooling fast in the night air, and he wonders if they will ever share those tight defended spaces again.
No love! No chains. He will never be a pawn but a player, the master of his freedom, driven by the wind. Baring his teeth to those he longs to share his meat with, a lone dog, howling at the moon.