But that likely won’t last for long.
I press myself against the back wall, tail between my legs and head low. A silent whine sits in my chest, my vocal cords conditioned into silence by the punishments I received every time I made the slightest noise.
The man shakes his head as he stares at the tablet in his hand. He runs his finger over the surface again, then glances at me for a moment before returning his attention to whatever he's looking at. He stares at the screen for a few more minutes before crossing the room and setting the tablet on one of the metal tables on the opposite side of the room.
“Still not the results we’re looking for,” he mutters—to himself, not to me,neverto me. The last time one of the humans spoke to me and stroked the fur of my ears, the other human in the room yelled at her, and I never saw the one who touched me again.
The man moves to the small refrigerator in the corner and withdraws a small glass bottle filled with a greenish liquid. His next stop is a stack of drawers from which he takes out a plasticwrapped syringe. Bile climbs the back of my throat and my gaze flicks back and forth between the bottle and the needle.
Not that one again.Anythingbut that one.
The liquid he's filling the syringe with is the stuff they've been injecting me with for… I'm not sure how long. Though it’s only the most recent in a long line of other substances, it's the worst by far. I don't know what exactly the greenish liquid is supposed to do, but I know it's not doing what they're expecting.
And I know it will burn like fire through my veins.
I flatten myself as tightly against the back of the cage as I'm able to. It won't do me any good, but instinct is a powerful thing, and mine is screaming at me to get as far away as possible from that needle full of pain.
The man unlocks the cage door and opens it, the syringe casually held in one hand. He rolls his eyes as he reaches inside and grabs me by the scruff of the neck, then drags me forward, my paws scrabbling at the cold metal floor as I struggle against his hold.
“No. Bad dog.” He releases my fur and smacks the side of my head hard enough to make me dizzy—not that it takes much to do that these days. I give up fighting, not that it was doing me any good anyway, and he lets out a derisive snort at my quick submission.
He wraps one hand around my muzzle, forcing my head to twist painfully to the side. A second later, the needle pierces my skin, the sharp pain making me wince. I let out another noiseless cry and try to pull away, but the man holds firm, pressing my face all the way into the floor of the cage.
He depresses the plunger and an inferno spreads under my skin, the chemical flames licking across my nerve endings. My muscles go rigid, my bones seeming to twist and move under my skin, and I squeeze my eyes shut, taking slow breaths, trying to force my body to relax against the pain. The man withdraws theneedle and stares down at me with empty eyes, observing my agony with cold detachment.
From across the room, the tablet the man was staring at earlier makes a noise, and he casts a glance over his shoulder. The object makes another noise and the man huffs in exasperation. He turns, tossing the used syringe toward a red bin to the right and nudging the cage door closed using his other hand. The syringe misses the bin, falling to the floor about a foot short of its goal.
The man curses and strides over to scoop up the needle, placing it in the bin before moving to the table and picking up the noisy tablet. He flicks his finger over the screen and curses again.
“Incompetent morons.” He moves toward the door, his gaze firmly fixed on the object in his hands as he exits the room. “Am I the only one who knows how to do anything around here?”
Whether he is or not, I don't know.
But I do know he was so distracted, he forgot to check the latch on my cage, and even through the haze of pain from the injection I can tell the door hanging there in front of me is
Not
Quite
Closed.
Two
???
The space between thecage door and the latch is nothing more than a tiny sliver of air, just enough to hint at the possibility of freedom, and the sight pulls up an emotion I thought entirely lost to me.
Hope.
In all the time I've been here, not once has anyone made a mistake like this. Have they gotten complacent or do they truly not care what happens to me anymore?
Does it really matter either way?
No.However it came about, this is my chance to escape.
I force myself to my feet, head spinning and legs shaking with the exertion. My spine presses against the top of the cageand lingering aches stab at my joints. The green liquid's painful effects will last a while longer, but there's no time to waste.
I might never again get an opportunity like this one.
