Example: Ignition

Author: Fenix
Length: ~49k
Pokémon: Houndoom (Complex)
Grader: Galleon

This is a freakishly good story. Read it or don't read it; either way, consider taking a peek at the grade at the bottom. 'CAUSE IT COULD BE HELPFUL.

Uh, also, it's worth noting that the author had this lovely note about mature content. It's not necessarily GAGH MY EYES THERE ARE BOOBIES mature, but 's darker than a lot of URPG stories you come across, and... well, a lot of stories in general, so the warning is semi-necessary. Consider me hereby un-responsible for any emotional trauma that may occur after this point. Even if you didn't read this notice, IT'S STILL NOT MY FAULT.

 

Ignition​

Once upon a time, or twice upon a time, or as many times upon a time as anyone can imagine, there lived a girl.

She lived in the very definition of a fairy tale, minus anything interesting, supernatural or remotely adventurous that might happen to the generic main character.

Nobody she knew was anything more than an unimportant single-use character that existed only in the moments they appeared on screen. They never existed before their small role call, and nobody cared if they existed once it was over. Everyone had their own specific use which they performed aimlessly before exiting the stage. Maybe they would return, maybe they wouldn't, but it didn't matter either way. They could cure world hunger and disease, start a cultural genocide, or go to their cookie-cutter house to sleep in their cheap white bed sheets and wake up again the very next day to file paperwork or flip burgers just as they had done for as long as anyone could remember. The latter was more likely, but any possible option could occur and not make the slightest difference, because in the end, everything epitomizes futility. Everything amounts to a few seconds of rising action before a climax that will never come.

Through the endless mazes of grey-scaled memories soon to be forgotten and the daily routines that never were remembered, she walked and walked, her body in motion but her mind in limbo. She talked and talked, but never actually said anything at all. Or maybe she was merely sitting in a plain chair near the window of her second-floor apartment, located conveniently (or inconveniently) above a small convenience store near the outskirts of a large and bustling city.

The location and actions were not the important part, but rather the idea that was almost born that day. Almost, but not quite.

And so the story begins. The story of how it all went down; the story of how she went down.




Several days had passed since the night she almost quit her job.

It wasn't because she was unhappy with the pay or had any sort of problems with her boss, but because she didn't. She didn't have anything extraordinary or special wrong with her life whatsoever.

She lived a plain and boring existence in a plain and boring city, attending classes at a community college by day, and working in the toll booth of a subway in the evenings. She didn't make much money, but she didn't need very much either. Her classes were paid for by a grant she received after graduating high school, and her rent was low due to her dwelling's undesirable location.

It was raining that night, and she had just returned home after her shift at the subway. Instinctively, she switched on the light and subsequently the television as she passed it on her way to the refrigerator. Her only companion, a small black canine with a burnt orange muzzle and underbelly, trailed along behind her, sniffing the air in hopes of detecting a possible snack, his short tail wagging with hopeful anticipation.

She grabbed a container of leftover macaroni and cheese and a fork, and without even heating it up, drifted silently over to a foldable card table and wooden chair serving as a makeshift dining room. Positioned in front of the window, she gazed blankly out into the rainy night, the headlights of cars passing by distorted into droopy ovals by the water cascading over the window panes.

Canned laughter from the unwatched television lingered in the air along with the scent of stale carpet and another lost day as she ate her cold dinner.

Another lost day, the kind of day that matches every other day she lived. Always seemingly busy with one menial task or another, but never ending with anything to show for her work, never anything to talk about or remember. With her fork, she pushed a sluggish noodle around in the bowl of clumpy, tasteless cheese.

Every day was the same, and it was beginning to become unbearable. Wake up, shower, catch the subway to her school and sit through class, ride the subway again to her work station, collect coins and hand out tickets, return home, go to sleep, wake up and do it all over again.

These thoughts soon chased her appetite away, and she lowered the plastic container of cold food to the ground for her hungry hound to devour.

One evening as she was working, she toyed around with the idea of quitting her job and school and running off to become one of those Trainers you'd hear about in the news. They always had all the fun, exploring the wilderness and living without a care in the world. But that took money, something of which she did not have an excess amount, and aside from that, her only companion was not registered, nor did he have any formal training or even one of those devices used to contain them for travel. He, like her, was average; nothing more and nothing less.Or she could get off at a different stop than usual and just walk away from it all instead of returning home, throwing all caution to the wind to seek out a true meaning for her existence. But soon all of these fanciful ideas faded away as another nondescript person passed her a subway pass to be scanned and returned.

A few nights later, as she was sitting in one of the underground trams on her home from work, her mind began to wander again.

How ironic her job was, she thought to herself. People not satisfied with their current location would go to the subway seeking transportation to another, presumably more desirable (although more likely not), location. She was the only thing keeping them from freely waltzing onto one of the metal trains that connected them to their possible destiny, and yet she was possibly more dissatisfied with her own location than most of the people she worked to serve. Or was the better word 'indifferent?' She couldn't decide whether she was completely indifferent toward her living, or simply dissatisfied.

The difference being that someone who is indifferent would not be compelled to take any action for or against the given situation, while someone who was dissatisfied logically would work to change the current condition.

The gentle hum of the car she was in began to lull her into a drowsy state, perpetuated farther by the graffiti-covered walls zooming past the windows.

Before she realized it, she woke up with a jolt as the car came to a stop at an unfamiliar station. She had fallen asleep and missed her stop.

She glanced at the illuminated map above the doors, and realized that she was only two stations away from her usual area of departure, and decided that she might be better of walking instead of waiting for the subway car to loop back around.

As she avoided the incoming passengers on her way out, it occurred to her how silly she felt; she had worked in and rode the underground rails for several years, yet she had never deviated from the same three stations; the one near her home, the one near her school and the one near her job. She hadn't even thought about what might be found at any of the others.

The night air was cool against her face as she emerged above ground once again. Despite this, she was overcome with an inexplicably strange sense of disillusion and confusion unrivaled in strength by any emotions she could recall in her recent past. The sky-scraping buildings seemed to be closing in on her from above, the masses of people crushing her and the endless lights that pierced the nonexistent darkness of the evening were blinding her vision.

Attempting to shake this trapped feeling of hopelessness, she took a deep breath and began walking.

The buildings were plastered from top to bottom with glowing neon signs advertising everything from fried chicken to maid services and Happy Hour drinks. However, for some unknown reason or another, one sign in particular caught her eye; a shining beacon among a sea of glowing advertisements.

A fancy jagged font brightly colored in screaming green, shocking pink and electric blue reached out to her through the foggy doldrums and despair like a life preserver, dragging her in from the cold and harsh waters.

"Tequila Tiger- fierce girls, wild times," the sign read.

The windows were tinted black, but she could tell something amazing must be happening inside. She could feel the bass from a fast-paced music tune vibrating through the windows, and could almost see a hint of flashing lights showing through the dark glass.

Something sensual, lively, forbidden is hidden inside here, she thought to herself. They don't want anyone to see it; they must want it all for themselves.

Greedily, she opened the door and slipped inside.

Immediately she experienced a senses overload, unable to process the gravity of the situation.

The air was powder-blue with smoke. Strobe lights and spotlights were flashing from what looked like a stage deep within the building, turning the crowd of people into dark silhouettes against the brighter-than-life backdrop. Scantily clad waitresses in stiletto heels with neon pink or green hair were carrying trays of tall drinks high above their heads, striped tiger tails sprouting from their rear ends and swaying alluringly behind them like an invitation to explore their mannequin-esque bodies.

Loud instrumental music was blasting, characterized by a thumping bass beat contrasting with high-pitched metallic symbol crescendos and brazenly violent guitar riffs that seemed to make some of the patrons weak in the knees and draw cat calls and loud hoots from others.

It was like a scene taken from the wildest of dreams, yet it was more real than anything she had experienced or felt in years.

As she cautiously approached the writhing mob of dark figures gathered around the stage, an explosion of light filled the room, followed by complete darkness, except for the plethora of multi-colored glow sticks adorning the catlike waitresses' bodies.

She pushed her way through the thick darkness to sneak closer to the heart of the action, twisting and weaving her way between hot sweaty bodies.

As she reached a breaking point in the crowd, presumably the front, a stark white spotlight flooded the stage, and for the first time, she realized what everyone was watching; a pole dance show.

A lanky female wearing what must have been 12-inch heeled boots extending up past her knees descended to the highly-polished and reflective stage from a pole directly in the center. Her lips were a bright fuschia and she was wearing a tight shiny black bra edged in lace of a similar color as her lips, and a matching thong adorned with a short skirt-like frill, her bare stomach and arms covered in loose-knit fishnet.

She gracefully slid up and down the pole, her movements exquisitely fluid, especially considering the boots she was wearing. Each thrust of her hips or shake of her long platinum blonde hair was complimenting the beat of the music.

The surrounding crowd, which she now realized was completely male, were desperately holding their hands out, fists clenched around singles and waving them in the air as an invitation for the dancer to come their way.

Completely entranced by the performance, she felt something deep inside of her beginning to catch fire. It started out as a spark and grew into a blaze as she lost herself in the crowd and the music. She knew at this moment she had discovered something very important. Was this ignition? Had she finally crossed the border between the grey world of toll booths and false emotions into the super highway of sensuality and raw, real life?

Before she reached a conclusion, the music stopped and the lights turned on; that was the final act of the night.

The once mysterious dark silhouette figures surrounding her were revealed for the everyday schmucks they were; construction workers still dirty from a long day of hard work, taxi cab drivers taking a break from their dismal reality, fast food workers and janitors were likely among the exposed crowd. They were only extraordinary as long as the lights were off and the show was on, then they could be anyone. She could be anyone.




And so it was that our young protagonist advanced through the plot of her boring life story. Every Friday night she visited The Tequila Tiger on her way home from work. She watched the pole dances and strip teases among the crowd of excited men until the joint closed in the early hours of the morning when the sky is still a melon orange from the light pollution of the city, before the sun rises but long after most other establishments aside from the 24-hour marts have closed.

These nights were the sole beacon that kept her going throughout the week; the only day that was distinguishable from the next or the last. But one day a week was far better than nothing as she had before, when the days and weeks blurred together like a watercolor painting carelessly left out in the rain.

When the lights went out and the music was throbbing through her entire being, she was no longer herself, but rather an extension of the exotic women performing on the stage. But as soon as they turned on again, the flames of her voyeuristic fantasies were extinguished and she returned back to her apartment. Back to reality.

After nearly three months of feeding on the energy of the stage girls, she finally gained the nerve (or stupidity, as some may see it) to ask if she could join the crew, become one of them. She waited until the crowd cleared one night and searched out one of the catty waitresses to inquire about who was in charge.

She was directed to a back room where she met with a man who appeared to be in his 30's, wearing a deep crimson suit and greasy brown hair slicked back, the comb marks still visible from whenever it was styled.

He was reading a newspaper as she approached his desk, and didn't even look up from it when she knocked on the door frame of his open office. He simply called her in with an uninterested voice and a slight wave of his hand.

The 'interview' initially consisted of him asking her to leave, saying that they did not need any more workers, but she begged and insisted. Eventually he took his eyes from the periodical and let them wander over her body's features.

He directed her to take off her coat and come closer to him as he rose from his chair. She closed her eyes and obliged.

A voice filled with ill intentions meandered from his mouth and into the office's vapid air, asking her how badly she wanted the job.

She wanted it badly.




With an emotionless grunt of approval, he told her to come back the next day for some training, and if she did well, he would hire her, but he was quick to point out that she would be making hardly any money in the form of a paycheck- most of it would be collected as tips, and as the newest dancer, she would have last priority when it came to that.

However, money was not her motivation. She wanted to feel alive, break the rules, do everything that makes life worth remembering, everything she shouldn't do.




The first night of the job.

Her usually plain and makeup-less face was painted beyond recognition, which she didn't mind at all since tonight she was no longer herself. Her eye lashes were charcoal black with mascara, now almost spidery in length. Her lips, the color of fresh ruby blood, eyelids a dark oceanic blue to exaggerate their size and her cheeks flushed pink with powdered blush. She was wearing so much hairspray that she could have entered a wind tunnel without disrupting its volumized style.

Her outfit consisted of a tight black corset with brilliant magenta silk lace outlining her body's curves and matching black lace garters atop her thigh-high screened stockings; a perfect image of every man's lust and desire.

She watched from the sidelines as the other girls danced on the stage, dipping and bowing low, allowing the silhouetted figures to reach up and tuck a single or two into their panties for some hip-shaking action.

In what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, the song began to change, signaling a change in the lineup of women. Now it was her turn.

She strutted onto the stage, wearing the highly sexualized pout she was instructed to sport for the enjoyment of their patrons. Placing one hand over the other, she launched herself into a leap on her pole.

She caught the pole with her leg and descended slowly in a teasing twirl. The metal was still warm from the dancer before, worn smooth from countless dances and shows put on over the years.

Tonight everything was hers.

Euphoric sensations flooded her mind as she was reborn on stage. Tonight she had nothing to lose.

Invigorated by the whistles, she continued to lavish the pole with every inch of her body as she twirled and whirled, the lights, music and room spinning around her, transporting her into another dimension.

Flesh against silk, she slowly shook her hips.

Silk against metal, she grinded up and down the pole, all eyes on her.

Metal against skin, she was both everything and nothing, her former self dissolved; now she was a fierce and wild tigress.

An object of desire.

A sexual being.

Both eloquent and wrong, and loving every second of it.

Tonight she experienced ignition.

 

Time passed and before she knew it, she had quit her miserable night job at the subway to dance full-time as one of the exotic Tequila Tigresses.

She became a fan favorite, a star for the first time in her life.




The money didn't start out as much, but soon she was raking in the tips like an old pro. The boss said the men loved to see new flesh; she was lucky her for her youthful age.

She poured every part of her being and energy into her nighttime performances, which meant that she had less of herself left to tend to the menial and unglamorous aspects of her old life.

At first she deposited the money into her savings account since her modest lifestyle did not need very much money to maintain, but the girls at work poked fun at her for having so few possessions. Her clothes were plain and she didn't have any jewelry of her own. On the one occasion that she brought an acquaintance from work home with her, a roar of laughter exploded at her threadbare carpet and chincy furniture.

One or two decorations couldn't hurt, she supposed.

On their day off, the two dancers went on a shopping spree downtown in the heart of the city. Although she had vowed to buy nothing more than a sensible set of curtains, she found herself carrying bags packed full of pricey merchandise, signing a consent of delivery slip for what she couldn't carry.

Designer sunglasses, an astonishingly expensive clutch purse, several new blouses and trendy new shoes were just the beginning. She binged, indulging herself in a silk-covered couch with antique-looking ball-and-claw feet and fine china adorned with hand-painted flowers more delicate than any she had ever seen in the real world, although she would be the only one eating from it. The modest drapes she had in mind turned out to be extravagant lace wall hangings, which, of course, needed an equally royal golden rod to hang from.

By the time she realized what she had done, she had a bill nearing the $10,000 mark, wiping out almost all of the money she had saved as long as she had been on her own.

But who needed money when you had all these great things, her coworker reminded her. Surely she was more happy with all of this new stuff than she would have been before. And didn't she like all of it?

Embarrassed, she agreed and flagged down a taxi to transport them both to a nice bistro restaurant known for its cutting-edge style and healthy food selections. She knew better than to take the subway; that was for common people and poor workers.

Days passed and nights dominated her heart's domain now. Everything else was just a waiting period before she took to the stage. But the physical exhaustion from the workout she got every night at work and the lack of sleep from the late hours was starting to catch up to her. She often found that she no longer had the energy to take her canine companion out for his daily walks, but surely he wouldn't mind. He never seemed to complain. And it was getting harder and harder to find time to study for her classes and complete her assignments as well, and her grades slowly started to slip without her realizing it.

One day she woke up late, discovering she had missed class all together. The next day she was careful to arrive on time, ten minutes early even, but she noticed that no terrible consequences were waiting for her, no punishment for her absence the day before. Maybe sleeping in every once in a while to make up for her late nights wouldn't be so bad.

To keep up with her expensive new lifestyle, she picked up an extra shift waitressing at The Tequila Tiger, in the late afternoon, before it was her turn to join in on the festivities.

At first she didn't mind, the tips were nice and the extra time out of her apartment filled the empty hours of her days. She even liked the outfit, those sexy tails always had seemed rather fun to her, a bit of mysticism and childlike fantasy mixed in with the adult-themed entertainment. She would sometimes imagine she was a lithe and limber predator slinking through the field of people on a secret mission as she carried trays of drinks from table to table.

But the fun didn't last. Spending so many hours on her feet was really taking a toll on her. She would come home after her nearly sixteen hour days completely exhausted and sore everywhere. Her legs were stiff and her feet felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer to them. The glamour she once saw in her job was diminishing faster than she could collect tips on a Friday night.




One morning she got home from work exceptionally late after entertaining a private bachelor party that kept the establishment open past hours. It had been one of the busiest nights the club had seen in a long time. She didn't even have time for a dinner break between shifts. Her head was pounding and her empty stomach was burning. She wanted nothing more than a quick meal and a good long rest.

On her way to the refrigerator, she stepped in something wet, soaking through her socks and sending a chill of disgust and horror up her spine as she realized what it was; dog pee, and right on her brand new $500 Persian rug! She had just bought it on her last shopping excursion, and already something had happened to it.

An intense wave of fury spread through her like she had never experienced before when she saw the guilty perpetrator cowering across the room, seemingly aware of the gravity of the situation he had accidentally created. Of course it was not his fault he had been locked alone in the apartment all day with no one to let him outside, but this thought didn't cross her mind once as she tore her soiled sock off and stalked across the room toward the whimpering animal.

Before she had a chance to get a hold of herself or realize what she was doing, she was carrying him down the steps and tossing him outside. However, she had no intentions of bringing him back in this time. He ruined her expensive new rug, and that was it for him, simple as that.

He tried to follow her back inside, but she stomped at the ground in front of him and yelled at him to get out of her sight, as though he could understand what she was saying.

Anyone watching would have been sure he could, from the way he tucked his short tail between his legs as he slowly walked away, looking back just once to see her slamming the door behind her as she left him to fend for himself.

Later that day she was back to work as usual, still tired and sore from the night before.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and still she toiled away day and night to feed her growing debts. She was left in a constant state of fatigue from not getting enough sleep, and she was running out of places to keep her newest wave of purchases, and soon, addictions.

Even worse, the emptiness was creeping back into her life faster than she could bury it away. She would find it hiding in the dark corners of her beautifully decorated apartment. She would hear it in the canned laughter of a late night rerun on evenings she wasn't working. She could smell it in the perfume she liberally sprayed, even though no one was around to notice it. And she would eat it from her fine china plates that from which no one else had dined since she had abandoned the only creature to ever show her any true companionship and loyalty.

Maybe all of this was getting old. Maybe her flame had went out. Maybe she needed to buy some new clothes to fashion a new outlook.




When it came time to pay her tuition bill for the next semester, she found that she did not have enough money left in her account, nor could she obtain a loan in time to make the payment.

But what did it matter anyway? She hardly went to class anymore, and when she did, she was not prepared. Maybe it was better this way, so she could focus more on her job to make more money to pay the credit card bills she had piling up. Those interest rates really were killer.




The young protagonist continued to fight off her loneliness and dissatisfaction with more extravagant purchases and more hours working the club. That job had become more than just her whole life, it became a rope she clung to in an endeavor to keep her head afloat in the sea of debt she was beginning to down in.

Another pair of designer sunglasses with lenses that darkened in the sunlight and a brand new flat screen television were her latest purchases, her treasures of facade, her desperate lies.

One unfortunate evening while she was scaling and descending the pole as she did every night, she made a critical error in judgment, which caused her to slip and twist her ankle. Rendered useless for almost a week, she sulked about in her apartment, drowning in the clutter of doodads, clothing and furniture she stuffed into the small space, which still managed to seem amazingly devoid of warmth and comfort since she ousted her furry little friend.

She was glad when it finally healed up enough to return to work; anything to get her out for a while.

Her return to the stage was met with a louder-than-usual cheer from the regulars. Nothing else from her performance was worth remembering, and soon faded away into a grey-scaled pool of forgotten twirls and lost nights. But of course, there was no way she could have remembered the two new faces mixed in the crowd, watching her more closely than anyone ever had.




They say every story has a beginning and an ending, but fairy tales are different. They all begin the same way, yet they don't really have a true beginning. You never hear very much background information about any of the characters, and once they leave the stage, their fates are lost in a flurry of "happily ever afters." Whether they actually were happy is not of consequence. They lived long enough to fulfill their role in the story, what more could they want?

That night when she left the building, she thought she heard footsteps following behind her. She stopped and looked back, but there didn't seem to be anyone around.

As she walked farther, she heard the steps again, but she was not near any comfort zones, and decided to pick up the pace instead of looking back this time.

The footsteps got faster too. And heavier.

She started to panic, and in her fear, she made a wrong turn down an alley behind some old abandoned buildings. She didn't want to turn around and see whatever or whomever was following her, but a long shadow was cast down the alley behind her, and she had no choice but to turn and face the truth.




Two grubby looking men were standing in the entrance to the alley, one with his thick arms crossed over his large barrel chest, and the other standing with his head cocked to the side a little as he stared her down, casually tossing what seemed to be a metal pipe or club from hand to hand. Although she could not see his face, she was sure he was smiling at her, but not the friendly kind of smile one friend might flash at another as they pass by on the street, the kind of smile someone very sadistic gets before they do something very terrible.

She gasped in surprise and started to back away, but the man holding the object called her out on her fears.

"What's the matter, pussycat?" he asked in a deep voice that didn't try at all to hide his cruel motives. "You don't wanna play with us?"

The larger man laughed and shifted his weight from foot to foot a few times when his friend said this, uncrossing his arms and tucking his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants.

She just stared at them, her eyes flicking wildly from the very large man to the other with an unspeakable feeling of doom clutching her by the throat.

The man spoke again, "The way you twist and move on that stage, you really know how to get a man going, don't ya, sweetie?"

She took another step backwards and shook her head. She did not like where this was going.

"Look at you, all dolled up with your expensive jewelery and fancy clothes," he paused to let out a quick, mocking laugh. "All dressed up and nowhere to go, eh Barbie doll?"

She wanted to scream and run, but there really was nowhere to go, no escape out from the dead-end she had trapped herself in, and she couldn't seem to get her voice out of her throat, like it was trapped deep inside her, too afraid to come out.

The two men began to advance on her, the one with the pipe first, followed by his larger sidekick, who was now cracking his knuckles.

Another thought crossed her mind; she had all of her earnings for the night in her purse, and she couldn't afford to miss another credit card payment.

The men were close now, really close, and she could smell a heavy odor of liqueur emanating from one or both of their bodies.

When only a few strides separated them, she panicked and tried to turn and run, but her high heels caused her to falter and trip onto the ground, painfully twisting her previously injured ankle and scrapping her bare knees across the dirty and weathered asphalt of the abandoned alley.She tried to get to her feet, but a sharp pain kept her down, so she just clutched her purse tightly to her chest.

The men took a few final steps forward, coming to a stop next to her on either side; she was surrounded. Their daunting frames towered above her, a pair of ominous obelisks before the damsel in distress. There was no charming prince in sight to save this young maiden.

"If you scream, I'll bash your head in with this lead pipe," the same man said as he unzipped his pants. "It's too late to go back now. I wouldn't have to do this if you would have just given it to me like a good little kitty."

As if by some miracle, or curse as it may seem, she finally found her voice and screamed as loud and hard as she could. Only halfway fulfilling his promise, he kicked her sharply in the side, the tip of a steel-toed working boot knocking the wind out of her. Her purse slipped from her grasp as her head landed with a dull thump on the aged and cracked ground.

But he wanted more than her money.

 

Her vision slipped in and out a few times before she suddenly became aware of the man on top of her, her legs spread wide open, skirt pulled down around her ankles, restricting the movement of her legs. And a tremendous pain.

She tried to scream again, but a powerful hand gripped around her throat, crushing the air out of her, silencing her protest. His face was so close to hers, she could see that he had brown eyes and a five o'clock shadow on his chin. He held on tight as his beefy friend picked up the purse and smiled upon the discovery of so much cash.

She could feel her windpipe snapping as his grip tightened. A futile gasp for air. Ignition.




As her consciousness waned again, she heard a familiar sound in the background. It sounded far away at first, but soon grew louder and louder. What was that noise? She couldn't recall...

Something struck the man that was on top of her, causing his body to shudder and his grip to loosen, and she saw the larger man staggering backwards. A gasp of air and her senses returned.

Barking! The sound was barking, from what sounded like a lot of dogs. But that didn't make sense to her.

The man released her neck from his grasp completely to fight off an exceptionally large and highly irregular-looking black and orange dog that was biting into his shoulder. However, this was clearly not an ordinary domestic dog; it had two large white horns protruding from its skull and white bony appendages running horizontally down its spine, sharply contrasting its short, jet black coat. Its long tail was thrashing wildly about as it snarled and mauled her assailant, and it seemed to be capped off with a devilish triangle. It actually looked quite menacing, and it wasn't alone.

Two other, different-looking large dogs were ferociously attacking the large man, one leaping up and biting at his arms while dodging punches, and the other pulling at his left ankle, as though it were trying to trip him. Instead of sporting horns and a short black and orange coat, they had longer shaggy black and grey fur that rose on end and bristled as they struck. Several smaller pooches similar in body style, but primarily grey in coat color, were growling and barking quite a bit, but were staying out of the fray, their short, pointy ears flattened against their heads.

The furious man on top of her picked up his pipe again and whacked the canine in the head as he cursed loudly, but it didn't release him from its jaws.

Something seemed strangely familiar about that dog in a way, but she didn't have time to linger on the subject and used the distraction as a chance to pry herself from beneath him and crawl several feet away, quickly fixing her clothing as she moved.
For the first time, the large man spoke, his voice bellowing out loudly and filled with strange excitement, "Hey, don't kill that thing, we could get a lot of money for one like that!"

"Is it easy being so thick, knucklehead?" the girl's attacker hissed at his friend, quite obviously displeased. "This mangy mutt is gonna tear my damn arm off if I don't kill it first," he said, his voice full of venom and hate as he tried to pull himself free.
"Watch your temper, you don't find a quality one like that among strays very often," the other retorted with a greedy smile.

Seemingly unphased by the two animals attacking him, the big brute reached into his pocket and pulled out a round object that the young female had only seen on television and in books. He tossed it up into the air and a beam of red light shot out of it, temporarily casting a dim glow over the dismal scene, like blood pouring into the air and covering everything in its path.

Soon the beam collected itself into a large illuminated mass before disappearing completely, revealing a newcomer to the scene of the atrocity taking place late that night.

Completely taken aback at this unexpected turn of events, the girl was unable to believe her eyes as a grey-skinned, four-armed humanoid materialized in the alley, complete with what seemed to be a tight pair of black underwear. It was extremely muscular and had three fin-like ridges jutting out of the top of its head.

Even the attacking dogs seemed to stop in terrified awe for a moment as it stomped the ground with its two-toed feet and pounded its chest threateningly. Some of the smaller ones backed up a few steps and whimpered.

"Haha, that's the spirit! You know the drill," the hulking man called out to his grotesque beast as he kicked the dog that was attacking his leg, causing it to let out a sharp yelp.

She couldn't help but cover her mouth as she gasped, suddenly realizing this monster was at his command.




As the saying goes, "what you don't know can't hurt you." However, this rule of thumb proved to be dead wrong for the star of our show.

What she didn't know was that her two aggressors were traveling poachers, visiting the big city to blow their paychecks on pretty girls and booze before trekking back out in search of rare animals to sell on the black market for a quick buck. Rape and robbery were not outside their moral compasses since they found that few ordinary people were brave or foolhardy enough to challenge their requests. And those who were served as an easy punching bag for their hefty humanoid servant, who could be summoned and dismissed at their whim.

They constantly kept on the move to avoid racking up a reputation in any certain area, and maintained a drab appearance to blend in with the common people. "Nothing fancy, nothing frilly," as they liked to say.

But who cared about such a formal introduction? All she needed to know was that they wanted her money and her body, and weren't afraid of using force to get it.

The spotlight focused in on our lead female once again as the final act began to play out in front of her.




"First, let's get rid of the riff-raff," his thick voice commanded.

With surprising and dynamic speed for such a strangely shaped creature, the mutant wrestler lunged forward and delivered a dizzying punch into the side of the wolf-like animal that had been leaping at his master. A strange cracking sound muffled by the animal's fur could be heard as a massive fist collided with its rib cage, sending it flying towards the pack of back-up pups that were sent scattering to dodge the incoming body of their fallen comrade. It tried several times to push itself to its feet again, but it instead stumbled and staggered stupidly around, unable to keep its footing.

The other large black and grey vigilante sounded the attack, a loud howl that brought the others back to their senses, sending the band of strays charging toward their newly defined target.

With an intimidatingly loud snarl, the largest of the animals led the assault. Narrowly dodging a karate chop on its way in, it crunched its teeth down into the muscle of one of the monster's lower arm biceps, immediately locking its jaw. Three of the smaller ones flanked from the rear, serving as a tactical distraction so the remaining two could launch well-aimed attacks on the creature's other lower arm.

Blood could be seen streaming from the mouth of the largest animal as the creature under fire groaned and tried to shake the plethora of canines from its body.

All the while, the smaller man struggled with the demon hound. He abandoned his weapon in favor of kicking and punching at it, but its large size and ferociously aggressive biting was keeping him down. His shoulder was in a lot of pain from the initial bite, which infuriated him almost as much as this unwelcome distraction from his female prey.

The utter chaos of the situation was beginning to sink in for the girl, who was unable to tear her eyes away from the battle that was erupting in front of her.

The two pups that led the frontal attack were flung from the monster's arm as he delivered an open hand slap across them, as though swatting an annoying bug, as his owner commanded him to quit messing around and get the job done.

Despite taking the full brunt of a seven-dog assault, the hideous creature seemed to be enjoying the fight, going so far as smiling as he reached behind him and tore one of the small animals from his rear end and swinging it above his head times hurling it into the ground with enough seismic force to knock the animal out on impact.




A street dog never stays in a fight it knows it can't win. Sustaining heavy damage or critical injuries when no one is around to care of them can lead to permanent lameness and eventually death for an animal that fends for itself. Simply put, this was an impossible fight with nothing to gain for the street-savvy pack of strays.

For this reason, the mighty dog that had led the attack also led the retreat. It let out a high-pitched howl, signaling it was time to abandon the cause, before picking up the unconscious puppy by the scruff and high tailing it back out of the alley.

One of the small ones stopped for a moment to throw a deeply apologetic glance at the lone hell hound before scampering along with the others.

He knew if he wanted to win this battle, he was in it alone.




The large man laughed again and spat on the ground as the common strays disappeared from sight, leaving his real target behind.

"Don't let this one get away," he ordered.

Ignoring the blood slowly seeping from several of his lacerations, the trained beast approached the scuffle that had been continuing throughout its previous battle.

"About damn time," the angry man beneath the lanky predator said with relief, now sporting several bleeding bite wounds of his own on his arms and hands.

Grabbing the animal by its torso, the champion fighter attempted to wrench it from the man. The force of its pull lifted both from the ground for a moment before the dog finally relinquished its grip, allowing the man to drop to the ground.




The girl decided to use this distraction as her ticket out, and begin to slowly struggle to her feet, completely trembling from head to toe.




The humanoid beast began shaking the black and orange animal violently, but as it did, something unexpected happened. The hound opened its mouth and released a pungent sulfurous odor from its mouth, dizzying its attacker. It used this brief moment of opportunity to twist itself free, landing gracefully on all fours.

It let out a bone-chilling howl that echoed through the dark passageway to taunt its foe and raise its attacking spirit as it readied itself for another assault.

Taking a deep breath, it charged back into the fray before its enemy had a chance to regain composure, a tactic it learned from many hard fights on the streets at night for food and territory. As it leapt into the air, it forced a surge of fiery energy to invigorate its body, intensifying the power of the bite it delivered by a tenfold. Its fangs sunk into the belly flesh of its combatant, and it gnashed away with a fiery intensity.




Meanwhile in the background, the girl had finally returned to her feet and was beginning to gingerly hop towards freedom, her ankle paining her with every step.

Lucky for her, the two men seemed to be completely engrossed in the battle. For the moment, anyway.




The champion contender flinched in pain and stumbled backwards as its stomach was nearly ripped open, but a thick layer of muscle saved it from a what would have been a fatal blow to almost any other creature. It entered a state of intense rage, and began to throw wild and random punches in quick succession all over its opponents body to drive off the attack, which proved to be successful.

The dog became dizzy with pain and was forced to retreat backwards, dodging punches from all four arms. It knew its body was fast and limber, but physically fragile when engaged in combat of brute force. The hound couldn't take many heavy punches or its doom would be sure to follow, and it was already nearing its threshold after that last volley.

It needed some space to pull off a tactic it reserved for only the most dire of situations, so it continued to sidestep the punches and step back.

This probably would have worked, had another shriek from the girl not grabbed its attention.

The other man, not the owner of this fighting machine but the one who had been attacking her before, caught sight of her trying to escape and was wrestling her to the ground once again.

This slight lapse in concentration was costly, as the muscular hulk tightened its focus and unleashed a blow of epic strength and ferocity, sending the distracted dog careening through the air for a distance before skidding painfully across the ground and coming to a complete stop only a few feet away from the girl.

The loud whump from the impact was more than enough to draw attention, and both the girl and her attacker paused for a moment to look at the mangled body near them. Fresh blood was beginning to leak from its nose, sullying the otherwise orange muzzle with a deep red stain.

She could tell that it had a hard life, at least in recent history. It had both faint scars and newer healing wounds scattered across its face and body, and few small patches of fur missing along its bony collared neckline, revealing what looked like puncture wounds from a past fight.




An animal proves to be far more loyal than any human in many circumstances. Although many may refer to them as "man's best friend," often times they are not treated with half the respect and love they pour out to their owners and companions unconditionally.

The amount of stress and competition it takes to evolve a house pet into a higher form of beast would be unimaginable to most creatures, but he had endured and survived among a band of strays.

Even after all this time apart, he had recognized his former human's scream that night from several streets over and rallied the entire pack to rush to her rescue. But they were just that, strays, and did not feel the same loyalty and affection towards the human that he did in spite of how terribly she had treated him. He knew he must protect her!

Its body shuddered violently as it lifted its head to look at the girl up close for the first time in a very long while...

It really was so familiar, she thought for a moment as she examined the poor creature. Then all at once, she realized who it was; her old dog, her old companion who she had so callously and thoughtlessly thrown into the streets for urinating on her carpet.




Tears of guilt began to fill the girl's eyes when she realized what she had become, but she was rudely forced back to reality as a hand gripped over her mouth and held it shut.

"Hey pussycat, your makeup's runnin' too," the man said with a chuckle, apparently amused with her display of emotion. "Thought you'd sneak away, eh? Well that's too bad, I've got plans for you, honey, big plans."




Her old companion shouldn't have been able to continue battling. He should have been unconscious, in fact, but he forced his body to stay awake. He forced himself to stand up and face the four-armed creature once again, and knew it was time to unleash his last resort.

He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs. His opponent began to charge, under its master's order.

Closer, closer it got as it gained speed and momentum.

He held his breath in, feeling a spark of ignition before his eyes began to glow and his chest filled with fire. He held it in until the monster was a mere ten feet away and his body was overheating, the energy nearly bursting out of him, and then he unleashed an overwhelming bluster of unimaginable power that no one in the alley was expecting to see.

Flames shot from his mouth and engulfed the charging target, searing its flesh and bringing it to an abrupt halt. Its knees began to buckle as it tried to turn to escape the fiery inferno, but the blast was too much for it and it fell to the ground. Only then did he cease fire and draw in a breath of fresh air as he gazed at his smoking opponent, laying sprawled out on the ground, incapable of continuing the battle.

He turned to face the girl now, but he was unable to catch his breath. He felt light-headed and his whole body ached. Panting heavily, he struggled to retain consciousness after that exhausting battle.

It took every last bit of his energy to conjure up that mighty blast of fire. It burned true and strong, but cost more energy than he could afford to expend, especially so late into the fight.




The girl tried to pull herself free, smacking and clawing at her attacker's face, but he placed his hands back over her throat, crushing and squeezing, cutting off her oxygen supply.

Panic began to take over her as she fought to get loose, but to no avail; he was far more powerful than she was, even after getting mauled by the very same dog that she had banished, and that now stood just feet away, fighting for its own life.




He wanted to save her so desperately, but his legs gave way and he collapsed at last. A shadowy figure drew up over his body. It reached for something...




She watched as the life vacated the dog's sad eyes. Her own vision was blurring, too, she thought she could see a red light enveloping the still body... Her lungs were hungry and desperate for air, a familiar fatigue setting in... A futile gasp for air. Ignition.




Then it all went black.





The curtain fell over the scene, hiding the twisted, broken and used body from sight.




The next day, everyone continued to work as they did every single day before and would every single day after, until their bodies grew too old and useless; condemned to retirement homes until they rotted away, making room for more disposable humans.




And they all lived aimlessly ever after.

 

An unconventional grade for an unconventional story. Prepare yourself. gre:

The Scheme of Things: Man. You really screwed the pooch with this one, didn't you? Literally and metaphorically. But in a good way. A morbid and decidedly disturbing way, but still good. And wow. As far as fairy tales go, this story certainly has a score to settle.

I am a bit conflicted, however. The entire point of this tale seems to be to stray from tradition and clichés, presumably in order to present a more realistic atmosphere, and that's all good, but at the same time, the story goes out of its way to inject these elements and sections of text that always remind the reader that this is only 'make believe.' But, I do understand that this kind of thing is an artistic choice of the author, and it does succeed in creating a unique feel to the story, hence why I am conflicted. Personally, I feel that this a sort of self-defeating strategy, but it is not without its merits, and the decision is ultimately up to the author, anyway. ^^;

And while I'm not sure if I'd actually consider this story a fairy tale, it does have elements that are in many ways comparable to fairy tales, such as the nameless, voiceless heroine; it's like saying she doesn't have a name or a voice, because she isn't just one person, but an entire group of people who are unsatisfied with their lives. In that sense, she is quite archetypal in her own right, searching for something fresh out of life as many people do.

But as symbolic as she may be, she also lacks a certain realistic dynamic, I think. Or in other words, she has almost no personality. Throughout everything that happens, she hardly ever questions her own actions, even though she has ample opportunity. She hardly even seems able to recall a time when she wasn't living by herself, as if she'd been adrift in an ocean for too long to remember the rest of the world, and then, from the moment she steps in the 'Tequila Tiger,' she becomes a slave to her own sensual urges, like getting swept up in a tidal wave. I would've thought that, after living in her dull but pragmatic lifestyle for so long, with apparently no family or hobbies or desires or curiosities to worry about, she would be more embarrassed or hesitant or frightened or perhaps something else that would display how sudden and shocking this period of transition was for her, even if she did enjoy it in such a way that kept her coming back to the club for more.

I suppose you could attribute this to the simple fact that if she were given a more distinctive personality, then she would cease to be as symbolic as she is, but I would still argue the contrary. I think a more definitive character would make the whole story feel more relevant to the audience, and if the reader can care for the protagonist, then it'll be easier for the reader to empathize with that character, even if she does make some positively horrible decisions... like throwing her dog out on the street. TALK ABOUT UNCOOL. -_-

And I don't want you to get the impression that I didn't like this story or that it wasn't good or anything silly like that. I'm just trying to give you some honest to goodness feedback for you to ponder over at your own leisure. In fact, you could say that it's because I like your story that I'm writing what I'm writing.

The Mechanical Junk: As far as grammar is concerned, you did an excellent job. There were a couple tiny mistakes, but they were so few and far between that it'd be a real pain and practically irrelevant to go back and shine a light on them for you. However, I will point out one particularly nasty creature, because I hate these things, and I just wanna make sure you keep an eye out for them in the future:

This is a comma splice, and a difficult one to spot, too. It's easier to see if we take out all the adverbs and prepositional phrases:

So yeah. A semi-colon or breaking up that sentence will fix it.

The Special Effects: Your description was very good. You used a strong variety of words to breath life into the world of this story, so kudos to you.

One thing I wanna bring up, though, is passive voice. If you're unfamiliar with that, lemme explain. Passive voice is when the subject of a sentence is being acted upon, or more generally, when you use words like 'was' or 'had' as verb modifiers. Here's an example from your story:

And here's the same thing in active voice, instead.

It's not all that different, as you can see, but it changes the way you present the story from telling the reader about what's happening to telling the reader what's actually happening. In most cases, it's more desirable to say 'she wore,' rather than 'she was wearing.' It tightens up the story and makes the events taking place feel more immediate in the mind of the reader, which makes the text flow more easily.

Of course, that's not to say that passive voice is necessarily bad. Much of your story is in passive voice actually, and most of the time, it works very well, like when you're explaining what happens to her over a period of several days, rather than describing the action as its happening, or when you're explaining what happened to her dog or about the history of the two men that corner her in the alley. As a general rule, passive voice works better in exposition, and active voice works better in action. It's not always cut 'n dry, but managing when to use what techniques is one of the challenges facing us writers, in hopes of striking that sweet balance between vivid description and fluid language. Just something to keep in mind. ^^

The Realist: For the most part, it was pretty darn realistic. It was gritty and altogether morbid, not to mention sad, tying together the whole story in a rather dark way. If pushed, I could question why the two men sought her out specifically among all the other dancers or why she just had to take that wrong turn down the alley when they were chasing her, but this story isn't about being completely realistic, nor should such be expected.

The Action: The battle was plentiful, perhaps even more than necessary, and it ended both painfully and in a way that was difficult to predict, which really drove home the whole point about futility. Not saying I agree with the whole notion of endless futility, but honestly, it had to end that way, even though I personally would have preferred otherwise. What can I say? I'm a sap, and I love dogs, dammit.

The Amount of Work: About 48K, more than enough.

The Grand Prize: In short, this was a fantastic story, and I only offered so much of my opinion because I felt this story deserved more feedback. Houndoom captured! I expect your next story to be about sunshine and rainbows, though.

Congratulations and good luck with your future stories. gre: