The day the dog fighters came for my puppy a bit of my soul almost died. I was standing there in the cold and dark yelling for him to break free and come back, to run. I couldn't chase them into the woods, because then they'd have me too... and men such as they are dead within. The only reason he was released is because he'd never fight, not even a little. He's soft. That's why he came back to me, running through the cold air on those still growing legs.
The dog fighters were dead within, part of the zombie hoard or age, not nightmares of the night, but decaying souls of the flesh.
The dog fight was the betrayal of love itself, an abandonment of god and goodness. For what was being ripped apart was sentient and the monster who did the ripping should have been a contented and loving companion. The cold heart leads people to evil and this was evil incarnate.
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