....

They surrounded him. There where far too many brown and white pit bull heads to count. One, smaller then the rest slipped his way to the front and said in a high pitched voice, “You’ll finally get what’s coming to you, wolf. No matter how good you are, you can’t beat all of us.” Riot nodded at the challenging pit bull, not in submission but acceptance. Then his last words aired from his mouth, in a deep, wise beyond his year’s voice. “You want my worthless life? Come and take it.” Then a tide of rageful bodies dissented on him. He fought back with all his skill, but was overcome soon enough. When his heart finally gave its last wheezing sputter, the dogs did not stop. They continued to worry and tear at his carcass until all the hate was satisfied. The remainder of Riot lies, scarred and broken in the ditch. Then a dark shape hopped towards it from the shadows. Perhaps it was a shadow itself, but perhaps, I like to think, it was the black rabbit, guiding him to his long dead sister Ivory, Guiding Riot home. A pair of police men walked past the ditch, talking to each other. “Well looks like the riots finally died out.” Said one. He did not realize the truth of his words.