Brink

Hemmingway Adoption Home…
That’s what it says right there, in that large dilapidated metal sign. The supports were near collapse, barely hanging on. The brownish brick wall behind it was stained with black rust and rain. The door, foreboding before my twelve-year-old eyes, creaked even without motion. Its edges, from what I can make of it in the shadows, were slowly rotting. The hinges were also rusted.
My hand, small and pale—it didn’t look like it was mine—reached out and touched the door’s permanently wet surface. It was slick to the touch. I almost gagged. Curling it into a fist—ah, a pitiful excuse for a fist—I prepared to knock.
Was I ready? My hand paused centimeters from the dampened wood. It retreated to the handrail where it rested earlier. The railing was metal, and it was cold. The chipping paint scratched at my palm. The gag that threatened to escape my mouth was not from disgust anymore. It was from fear. Fear of what I might find out.
Am I ready to find out why my parents, my biological ones, gave me up to this place? What if it was because I was male and they wanted otherwise? Did they die right after my birth?

Thomas O’Shea, my adoptive father, couldn’t answer my questions that night. Yes, that night when he, in his rare drunken state, let slip that I was adopted when I was a month old. A month old… I was younger than that and my real parents had already given me up.
I didn’t hate Thomas and Victoria…how could I? They were the ones who opened up their heart to take me in when even my real parents wouldn’t. But I had to find out who my parents were. What were their names? Did this…this orphanage—the word pushed bile up my throat—carry any records?
Wait—! What if they just left me at the doorstep? No indications at all on who they were. Just a note saying ‘Take care of…’ What was my real name? Did they even get as far as naming me? Or was that part left out, considered pointless?
I had so many questions in my head, bumping against each other, trying to force its way into the surface. My temples throbbed.
Drawing breath, I raised my hand again.

That was probably two hours ago…
I sat myself on a bench, watching the night settle fully. In the end, I couldn’t muster enough strength to knock on that door. Embarrassing it was to admit, I bolted from the place, almost slipping a couple of times. Perhaps I even cried while I ran. I was pathetic. Crying…huh…what a baby… I guess Chris was right. I was yellow-bellied, a coward, a nervous wreck. My hands covered my face. I’ll never doubt my step-brother’s insults again.

I heard something: a tap of steel on the cobbled street. I looked up. There were three figures gliding right in the middle of the street. Cars—or any mode of transportation, for that matter—was very rare here. Their eyes, three pairs of glowing white orbs, glowed menacingly as they noticed me. I stiffened at the smell that permeated from them.
Oh no…

The street was dark, but I could see them. Three males, the tallest stood in the middle, with his shorter companions flanking him like a pair of bodyguards.
“What is this?”
The tallest breathed to his cronies. His voice was unbelievably soft, but I heard him anyway. I probably would have heard him loud enough even in a busy, populated place. His companions regarded me closer. Several metallic taps later, they now stood closer. They bent down as one, their eyes searching me.
I don’t remember standing, but I realized I was upright, hands clenched to fists.

“A pup,” the tallest one sneered. I suddenly had the impression his friends couldn’t speak at all.

“What,” the tallest continued, “Is a common house pet’s offspring doing in a place like this?”

His friends’ eyes widened at me.

I flinched at his insult, but I couldn’t pronounce any retaliation. There were three of them, one of me. Oh, I wasn’t misinterpreting their intentions. I know they want to kill me. Subconsciously, a growl rumbled at the back of my throat.

“Hah,” the tallest one said, his mouth curving in an amused smile. “The pup wants to play…”

He spread his arms, a gesture for his friends to spread on either side of him.
They surrounded me in an awkward circle. I was dead.

Still, my reflexes kicked in. Heat surged all over my body, and I felt my entirety stretch. It was quick. One moment I saw the world from my mere four feet, now, I was looking down on it. My clothes were in shreds on the cobbled street, but the fur that coated almost every part of me kept the cold away. I bared my teeth and allowed the rumble at the back of my throat escape through my snout as a bark. My lengthened arms swung at the three men around me, my claws ripping at the air. Maybe I could scare them off and we won’t have to—

Three blurs.
A sharp jab at my middle sent me to my knees.
Saliva, warm and viscous, splattered all over the place as one of them landed a good kick at the side of my face.
One blow to my side sent me flying towards the wall of a building.

Someone, I couldn’t see who it was, hissed in dismay.

“This is way to easy!” it didn’t sound like it came from the tall one. Probably the shortest one. He struck me as one having a gruff voice.

“C’mon, mongrel, get up!” urged a different voice. The medium-height one, maybe. It was a bit high-pitched, like he was speaking through a constricted throat.

“Yes, pup,” came the whispering voice of the tall one. “At least let us have our fun.”

I pushed myself up on all fours, assuming a stance to pounce. I growled and bared my teeth again. The three approached me carefully, gracefully, like cats cornering a mouse. Their eyes glowed scarlet, excited, and expectant.
One step closer and they were a blur of colors once more.

They weren’t that fast. I’ve seen Christoffer, my illustrious step-brother, take on faster enemies; to the point where they were mere ripples in the air. These men, I could see them coming, but…I was too terrified to move. I was twice their size now. Still, I failed to react properly.
I was struck with sharp jabs all over my body. Several times, my claws and teeth made contact with their cold skin. But my grip wasn’t tight enough, and they slid off me easily. Even when they were injured, their movement wasn’t stunted. They swirled in circles around me, constantly landing a punch or a kick on my face or on my side. Several times I let out a pained yelp. Pathetic, I was indeed.

I felt another building’s wall connect with my back. The crumbling sound of cement followed. Bits of it fell on my face. So I lay there, a deflated stuffed animal, whimpering.

The metal tap of their shoes echoed dully in my head. My mind couldn’t focus anymore. A hand, its iciness penetrating my warm coat, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me upright. He wasn’t that tall, so my long, back-canted legs dragged on the stone ground. I looked at him, trying to muster as much courage as I could.
His eyes looked back at me. They were orbs of red now, glimmering like spilt blood. The smile from his thin lips was mocking me. A whimper involuntarily escaped my lips.

“Aww,” the tall man purred. “Hush now, pup….”

He cocked his hand backwards. It was open and flat, his fingers pressed together. In seconds my head would roll down the pavement.

“It seems you can’t last long in our game…” he said, eyes never leaving mine. “Pity.”

The hand arched towards my neck. I closed my eyes. Images of my morbid death flashed through my head all at once. But strangely, none of them was that of feeling no pain…or of feeling nothing at all. For that is what I felt at the moment. Nothing. No feeling of contact with that cold hand, no warmth from the blood that would spill from my cut throat. Nothing.

A scream, unlike anything I’ve heard of, stabbed my ears. It was, in a crude representation, like a thousand bats crying out all at once, whilst a lion roared in their midst.
I felt myself slump on the ground. I opened my eyes. Something warm touched my muzzle. It smelled like… I knotted my brow. Am I dead already? Not wanting to stand up, I looked and smelled around.
I smelled more blood not far away from where I lay. They each smelled differently, I noticed vaguely. The smell of spilt blood was making my already concussed head spin.
A figure stepped into my field of vision. I tried to focus, but the image continued to blur. The last I thought I saw was a circle of gold…then blackness.