Not a minor problem (A Candela Obscura assignment)

A dishevelled and bedraggled man crouches down amongst the crates and barrels.  His gnarled and twisted hands mirroring now his body, naked apart from a pair of ripped ¾ length pants.  His torso seemingly bleached through lack of sunlight.  He moves to avoid detection and proceeds to stub his toe.  He tries to curse at the pain, but long ago lost the power of speech.

The noise did not go unnoticed though, as two burley looking security guards, one holding a rabid looking dog on a chain turn in his direction. “Did you ‘ear that?” one asks. “Yeah – I’m sure the creature’s in ‘ere, can’t run foreva the bloody mutant!”.

Taking his chance, the barely clothed man makes a run for a large sliding door in the warehouse.  He’s come this far and he’ll die before returning.  Unfortunately, again he trips and scrambles, like a cornered animal, on all fours towards the sliver of moonlight from the outside world.

“There ‘e is” says the first guard, letting the salivating dog off the chain, “Get ‘im boy – go on!” he encourages the hound further as it breaks into a sprint after the pathetic figure. In the end, it is no contest, no screams, no gurgling emanates from the escapee, only the sound of the dog, tearing apart its prey.