the brute.

… and on this shimmering wind-swept snow-covered football field there sits a lone brute. Forever chained in place, he leans emptied and scarred against the ice black fence waiting for something to eat… a small morsel to be tossed in his direction. How can he withstand another sunless day while dead-eyed crows mock his prison with caws of shallow callousness. Echoes of nighttime shrieks and wails are his only solice. Still vacant, he remains untouched as brutes often do. Some look at him and turn their noses in putrid disgust. He has no friends, yet longs for the company of a stranger, any stranger, to hoist him up and hold him, if only for a moment…

Always a challenge.


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