the marked mutt: a splintering tusk - 531 words

Kyy slammed the door shut behind him. He braced himself for a barrage of prying eyes by leaning firmly against it with his back.

 

Luckily, none of those disastrous scenarios in his head came to fruition. The people in the Guild were too friendly, too curious, and far too eager to his liking. A new face was welcomed with warmth the young man wasn't keen on. He didn't want any of those pats in the back or hugs he didn't ask for. He would've rather stood for hours in a snowstorm.

 

Just his forest, in the coldest heart of Winter. Just him and his hounds. The birds. People were too complicated. Too difficult. Too fragile.

 

Kyy finally took a good look at the space he had rushed into. The only thought in his mind had been to find the number that the key had carved into itself. Hide. Get away from these ravenous beasts.

 

He straightened himself and stood up properly. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, gentle and careful. Nostalgia flooded his whole body like a warm tidal wave.

 

Kyy remembered putting up every single one of the band posters on the walls. Their ugly, sharp folds bounced back light, like screaming about their origin of an obscure magazine. The grease from the pieces of blu tack in their corners bled through, leaving behind a stain in both the poster, and the wallpaper.

 

His old bed stood proud next to a window, pastel purple sheets and all. He had once hated them so much. He didn't like the color. The scenery outside seemed to slowly shift, as though it didn't know what it was or what to show. Otherwise, it was all just like he had left it.

 

Almost. Kyy noticed something on the bed. He carefully snuck closer like an anxious burglar.

 

It was a black bandana with white markings that imitated a row of sharp teeth. The young man sat beside the item on the bed, as if trying to avoid touching it. With trembling hands, he picked it up, and pressed it fast at his chest. He didn't remember leaving his mother's bandana behind - but he didn't remember packing it, either. He had thought he had lost it forever, and yet, there it was, in his hands.

 

At the same time, it felt both comforting, and a cruel joke. If this wasn't the piece of fabric he knew for certain that it was, was it even real? Was it here to begin with? Could he take it with him? Would it even matter?

 

This wasn't the room it attempted to replicate. Of course it wasn't. Of course he knew. The original had burned with the city. With everything he once had, and once knew. With the lives he should've cherished - and instead, he was the cause of their gruesome end.

 

Kyy's whole body jolted violently as something brushed his arm. Palo sat beside him. Where there usually was a pyre of anger and devotion, now held a nest for worry. It flickered and danced inside the hound's eye sockets.

 

He embraced the black dog - seeking solace from a being that, ultimately, wasn't real, either.