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Description
I don’t have a name. I was never given one. The people who run this joint don’t
care about us enough to bestow us with an honorable title. My mother, well, she saw differently. In her eyes, names weren’t worth the trouble in a place like this. I believe she once told me that a name was a dangerous thing to have. Someone could grab a hold of you by it, or take it from you even. Why lose something such as a name in a world where you have no freedom? No, mother was right. Names aren’t worth it in a place like this.

A place like this. Iron bars, cold dirty floors. Rotting food and water that tastes of metal. Nothing soft to lay your aching body down on after yet another night of service. No warmth from those around you, physically or otherwise. We’re all comrades in a way, yes. We all suffer together. We all slave away together. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t unite as one and at least attempt to put an end to all this. But I keep those foolish, whimsical thoughts to myself. We all despise one another. If you want to go on breathing, than you need to accept that everyone is an enemy, and that it’s far better for them to die than yourself.

My brother. My brother found that out the hard way.

I was the youngest. All of my other siblings had been taken away quite a while
before I was. Only one of my brothers remained. He was older than I was, but smaller. Weaker. I wish they had just taken him and killed him quickly instead of waiting for him to grow up a little. But they prefer males over females, so they waited, while my brother asked questions. He was far too smart to be born into this life, and far too stupid to hide his discontent. He kept on baying at all of us to stand together and fight our oppressors, right up until he was thrown into the pit with another male. My brother kept up is plea for peace though, even as his body was torn to pieces. They unloaded a few bullets into his skull afterward.

No. Not me. I know better than to throw my life away delivering a heroic speech that no one will listen to anyway. This isn’t a child’s story. In our world, there are no happy endings. There are only violent endings.

Only heroes die peacefully. Sinners like us, we die like we live.

If you can call an existence in Hell a life. You might try and convince me that there is a better life out there. That there is always hope. That Hell does not exist on Earth. However well-meaning your words would be, I’d tell you that you were dead
wrong. If you had seen as many brutal beatings and deaths as I have. If you were forced to fight, knowing that if the refused or lost the battle death would be upon them as quickly as a bullet can fly. If you had to witness your own mother being strapped down with leather bands, forced to remain unresisting while some brute had his way with her.

Then maybe you’d understand what I understand. What Hell is like. What it’s like to pay for a terrible sin that I never meant to commit.

“What sin?” you may be asking. “What could you have ever done wrong?”

It’s simple, really.

I was born a Pit Bull.

Description
I don’t have a name. I was never given one. The people who run this joint don’t
care about us enough to bestow us with an honorable title. My mother, well, she saw differently. In her eyes, names weren’t worth the trouble in a place like this. I believe she once told me that a name was a dangerous thing to have. Someone could grab a hold of you by it, or take it from you even. Why lose something such as a name in a world where you have no freedom? No, mother was right. Names aren’t worth it in a place like this.

A place like this. Iron bars, cold dirty floors. Rotting food and water that tastes of metal. Nothing soft to lay your aching body down on after yet another night of service. No warmth from those around you, physically or otherwise. We’re all comrades in a way, yes. We all suffer together. We all slave away together. Sometimes I wonder why we don’t unite as one and at least attempt to put an end to all this. But I keep those foolish, whimsical thoughts to myself. We all despise one another. If you want to go on breathing, than you need to accept that everyone is an enemy, and that it’s far better for them to die than yourself.

My brother. My brother found that out the hard way.

I was the youngest. All of my other siblings had been taken away quite a while
before I was. Only one of my brothers remained. He was older than I was, but smaller. Weaker. I wish they had just taken him and killed him quickly instead of waiting for him to grow up a little. But they prefer males over females, so they waited, while my brother asked questions. He was far too smart to be born into this life, and far too stupid to hide his discontent. He kept on baying at all of us to stand together and fight our oppressors, right up until he was thrown into the pit with another male. My brother kept up is plea for peace though, even as his body was torn to pieces. They unloaded a few bullets into his skull afterward.

No. Not me. I know better than to throw my life away delivering a heroic speech that no one will listen to anyway. This isn’t a child’s story. In our world, there are no happy endings. There are only violent endings.

Only heroes die peacefully. Sinners like us, we die like we live.

If you can call an existence in Hell a life. You might try and convince me that there is a better life out there. That there is always hope. That Hell does not exist on Earth. However well-meaning your words would be, I’d tell you that you were dead
wrong. If you had seen as many brutal beatings and deaths as I have. If you were forced to fight, knowing that if the refused or lost the battle death would be upon them as quickly as a bullet can fly. If you had to witness your own mother being strapped down with leather bands, forced to remain unresisting while some brute had his way with her.

Then maybe you’d understand what I understand. What Hell is like. What it’s like to pay for a terrible sin that I never meant to commit.

“What sin?” you may be asking. “What could you have ever done wrong?”

It’s simple, really.

I was born a Pit Bull.