Chapter 2
I end up in a big white building. From wall to wall, cages are lined up, one on top of each other. I notice that when the man enters the room, the whole room seems to stiffen. The dogs cower in fear, and huddle into the corner of their cage. I am about to ask where I was, but they just shake their heads, warning me to stay silent.
Their eyes are sad and depressed. One beagle stands out to me. His whole posture is despondent, several scars from whipping along his back and head. He limps slightly, which makes me suspect broken ribs. As soon as he spots the man, he lets out a low, helpless moan that only I can hear. When he sees me, his whole face tells me, “Run. Run now! You don’t belong here.”
The officer places me right on top of this beagle. Quickly, the man runs out of the room, coughing, as if to malinger. Immediately, the dogs yelp in cheer. But the beagle remains indifferent. I know what he is thinking. “We are done for. What is the point of celebrating the absence of our enemy if we are still trapped in this cages, forced to starve and die silently, with no one to care?”
I ask quietly to him, “What is this place?”
For several seconds, he says nothing. Finally, he answers, “This is where you will not survive. This is where you die in your sleep, alone and painless. See this scars?” I nod. “They came from that man who carried you. There is no good in him. You better escape here, man. But, who am I, to lift your spirit? You cannot escape. I have been here for many, many years.”
“But,” I start, “if there was a chance-”
He growls angrily. “There is no way out! Stop your fantasy, man. Just stay silent, and maybe they will not beat you up, but there are no guarantees.”
There is a loud laughter from the distance. It mocked me. It was happy, cheerful, magical. Why am I the one in misery, while others could easily be happy all the time?
The dog simpers ridiculously. “Hear them? They are having fun over there, talking about their achievements in the last few minutes, which by the way, includes you. Constantly, their yells about their vaunted captures are broadcasted for the whole world to hear.” He stops smiling. “They’re having a good old laugh, aren’t they?”
“What is your name?” I ask.
“I do not have one.”
“Well, of course you do. I was born with one, and so were you.”
“Really?” he said, pretending to be interested. “Kid, let me set something straight. My name neither concerns you or this place. They plunder everything you have. Your family, your life, your dignity, even your name. I hate it. I need to get out!”
There was a pause. “Face it, man,” he continues. “We are all trapped here, abused, with no one to know or care. As soon as you are here, you are a waif, a stray. You no longer own yourself. They own you.”
“I can attest to that,” says a random voice.
I jump. A Dalmatian, is speaking to us. He was big, covered in dots, and yet, he is skinny. He alone can fit in the cage. It just showed that he was never fed. In fact, I can make out his ribs standing out. I have a feeling he was listening the whole time.
“The enormity!” he calls.
“Look, I do not have time to be listening to these stories,” I state hurriedly. “How do I get out?”
There is a moment of silence, then laughter. However, it sounds bitter and nasty, disbelieving and untrue.
Finally, the Dalmatian speaks. “You want to escape, kid? Too bad. No way out.”
“I do not believe that!” I yell.
“Actually,” another dog utters, “There is a weak spot in the wall. The trouble is, you are trapped. That is an impediment.”
With tremendous effort, I bump my body against my cage, causing it to fall over. The door of the cage springs open, allowing me to be free. Several gasp in horror.
“What have you done?” they scream. “You will get us all in trouble!”
“Then come with me!” I shout. “We will all escape!”
Following my example, they manage to tip their cages over, and finding the specific spot in the wall, found freedom. As they all run out, yelping in excitement, I notice the beagle still in his cage.
“Aren’t you coming?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I wish to die peacefully, maybe even take responsibility for your actions.”
“That is not fair!”
“Life is not fair sometimes, kid!” he growls.
“You had nothing to do with it.”
“So?” he teases haughtily.
“So, I do not want you to be whipped, killed, or tortured just because I wanted freedom.”
“Kid, with old age comes sacrifice. An empty room with fallen cages is suspicious. I must stay here and accept the consequences. However, this will not not go silently. Officers with guns the size of your body will come looking. Avoid them, but do not fight. Understand?” I really do, but I do not want to leave him.
“Don’t you see?” he urges. “It dovetails. They see me here, and immediately think I am the one who caused the riot. I am killed,” he says, and I shudder, “and they come to find you, leaving this place deserted. You wait, and steal the food in the fridge here. But not now,” he says hastily, watching me look longingly in the doorway.
He motions toward the gap in the hole, my pathway to freedom. And suddenly, I do not want to escape. If that means leaving the dog who is accepting my punishment, I will not move.
Angrily, he exclaims, “Go on, kid. I will be fine, you’ll see.”
After several minutes of arguing, I finally leave. Looking back, he nods, and I take off, leaving behind the only one who cared for me.
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