Felix
Emily was studying at university and, like most students, picked up odd jobs, mostly night shifts. Her mum couldn’t support her financially, and the student loan barely covered living expenses in the big city.
After the summer exams, she took a break and spent three weeks back home. She returned rested, well-slept, lugging a bag stuffed with homegrown vegetables and jars of jam her mum had carefully packed.
Stepping off the bus at the station square, the bag felt twice as heavy after the long journey. She dragged herself to the minibus stop and set her burden on a bench with a sigh of relief.
Coming back to the city felt light. Home had been comforting, but she’d lived alone for two years now, grown used to her independence. She missed the bustle, her friends. Once she’d started working, she’d scraped together enough to rent a tiny flat and leave the dorm behind.
The flat was small, tucked into a quiet suburban estate, but the rent was cheap. Her windows overlooked a wild, overgrown field bordered by woods. At night, not a single light pierced the darkness, but mornings flooded the flat with sunlight. In winter, the snow-covered field glowed, brightening even the darkest hours.
A faint whimper cut through her thoughts. Emily peered under the bench and spotted a slender brown muzzle. Huge, frightened eyes stared back, brimming with loneliness. Only then did she notice the leash tying the dog to the bench. She crouched down. The dachshund shrank further into the shadows, trembling.
“Don’t be scared. Come out.” She tugged gently on the leash.
Reluctantly, whimpering, the dog crept forward, ready to bolt back under at the slightest threat. But Emily held tight.
The dog panted rapidly, tongue lolling. August had brought an unexpected heatwave. No wonder he’d hidden in the shade.
Realising he was thirsty, she spotted a kiosk nearby selling drinks and snacks.
“Wait here,” she whispered and hurried over.
“A small bottle of water, please,” she asked the curt shopkeeper. “You wouldn’t happen to have an empty tin can, would you?”
“Wouldn’t a cup do?” The woman smirked.
“No, a dog can’t drink from a cup. There’s a dachshund tied to the bench. Any idea how long he’s been there?”
The woman squinted toward the bench and sighed.
“People can be cruel. I opened at eight—saw a bloke pull up in a fancy car, tie the poor thing there, and drive off. Never came back. Reckon he dumped him. Here. It’s not clean, mind.” She handed over an empty sardine tin.
Thanking her, Emily paid—double the usual price—and returned. She rinsed the tin, filled it with water, and set it down. The dachshund had retreated under the bench again.
“Drink. It’s okay.”
Her voice soothed him. Whimpering, he crept forward, sniffed, then lapped greedily. When he finished, she refilled it.
“What am I going to do with you? Strays’ll tear you apart at night. Or worse.” She shuddered. “You’re coming with me. No other choice.”
She left her number at the kiosk in case the owner showed, unhooked the leash, and coaxed the reluctant dog onto the minibus. She paid for both, but neither the driver nor passengers protested—the dog stayed quiet in her lap.
At home, he cowered in the hallway, sniffing the unfamiliar scent, ignoring his surroundings. Emily folded a blanket into a bed, and he curled up instantly, watching her with those huge dark eyes.
“What should I call you?” She listed names aloud. “No? How about Felix?”
He barked.
“Felix it is.” Another bark. “You understand me? Why would anyone leave you like that?”
That night, she lay awake listening to claws click on laminate. Felix had ventured from his corner, exploring. At the slightest movement, he darted back. But soon enough, he settled in, whimpering excitedly when she returned from work.
The yard outside was crammed with cars, leaving the field their only walking spot. Once they were clear of traffic, she let him off the leash, afraid he’d run—but he always came when called. She marvelled at how he dashed through the tall grass on those stubby legs.
September arrived, dry and warm, and with it, classes. Night shifts resumed, leaving Felix alone most days. He waited eagerly, greeting her with wild joy. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
One Sunday morning, they headed to the field as usual. Felix circled her before bolting toward the woods. She called, fighting through the tangled grass, then stopped.
“Felix! Home!”
Silence.
“Found a rabbit hole?” Then—a sharp yelp, cut short.
Her stomach lurched. She sprinted toward the sound, crashing through the trees. A clearing. Three teenage boys crouched, examining something. Fifteen, maybe. She wasn’t scared—just angry.
“Where’s my dog?”
At her voice, they shot up. And then she saw Felix. A thick, sharpened branch pinned him to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him. She froze, unable to look away.
The tallest boy yanked the stick free. Felix jerked, whimpering. Blood gushed.
The boy stepped toward her, brandishing the bloody stake. He towered over her. His friends lingered behind, smirking. She tried to scream—nothing came out. His stare was empty, dead. Cold.
Her instincts screamed *run*. She turned, sprinting, the grass clawing at her legs. Footsteps pounded behind her, breaths hot on her neck—or was it just the wind? She didn’t dare look back.
Almost home. Cars ahead. One last push—
Something heavy struck her between the shoulder blades. Pain stole her breath. She tripped, cried out, knees slamming the ground. Bracing for another blow, she waited for that stake to pierce her—
Nothing.
Maybe they’d chickened out, scared of witnesses. A rock, then silence.
She crawled to the road. A silver car screeched to a halt. A man leapt out, helping her up. Each breath burned.
“Were you attacked? Who?”
She pointed toward the field, gasping. “Three… maybe four. Teens. They—they stabbed Felix. A sharpened branch.”
“Your boyfriend? Husband?”
“My *dog*. Please—he’s bleeding out. Help me get him.”
Relief flickered in his eyes—just a dog.
“Stay here.” He flagged down another driver. Together, they vanished into the field.
An eternity later, they returned. One carried a bloodied bundle—his jumper wrapped around Felix.
“He’s alive. Get in—vet, now.”
She cradled Felix in the backseat, stroking his head. His breathing was ragged, his eyes closed.
“Didn’t find them. Would you recognise them?” the man asked.
“One. Just one,” she whispered.
Felix died before they reached the clinic.
She couldn’t bring herself to move his bed or bowl. At night, she’d wake, thinking she heard claws on the floor. Returning from class, she’d pause at the door, expecting his joyful whimpers—but only silence answered.
Autumn rains set in. One evening, shivering in the damp, she ducked into a shop for bread.
On her way out, she collided with a teenager—and froze. Those cold grey eyes. Recognition flashed between them.
She opened her mouth—he spun and sprinted away. Rounding the corner, she heard brakes screech.
He lay sprawled on the tarmac. A stunned driver stammered to onlookers, “*You saw—right? He just ran out!*”
An ambulance arrived, then police. One officer approached her.
“You again?”
She blinked—then recognised him. The man who’d carried Felix.
“It was *him*. He recognised me too—that’s why he ran—”
Two weeks later, a buzzer jolted her awake on a dreary Sunday. She grabbed her phone, but it kept ringing. Groggy, she opened the door.
A man stood there, holding a square carrier.
She yelped, realising she wore only an oversized shirt, and slammed the door. Frantic, she threw on a dressing gown and reopened it.
“Sorry for waking you. Couldn’t leave her alone.” He held out the carrier.
It wriggled. She fumbled, nearly dropping it, then unzipped it. A tiny brown muzzle poked out. Huge dark eyes blinked up at her.
“Thought a boy might remind you too much of Felix, so… this is Fiona.”
“Fiona,” she echoed, lifting the trembling dachshund. A lick on her chin made her laugh, soft and bright.
“You kept it.” He nodded to the bed in the corner.
“Couldn’t bear to move it,” she admitted, clutching Fiona. “Thank you. I never got your name.”
“James.”
Fiona was nothing like Felix—stubborn, cheekAs the months passed, Fiona’s wild spirit slowly mended the cracks in Emily’s heart, and though she never forgot Felix, the sharp edges of grief softened under the weight of new love.
