The Ungrateful Tiger
It was dark. Scary dark. The ominous mood radiated out of every pore in each brick in the dark alleyway. So cold. So cold you could see the men's ragged puffs of breath as he hid in that dark corner, prepared to fight anything that would take him down.
He was an unidentified shape, all shadows-only outlines. The only chance of seeing this dark creature was if you held a torch to their face-something he didn't enjoy. But nevertheless, here he was, stranded in the streets of London, being hunted down by his fellow man.
"Get him," He heard the shrill cry of a whistle, "He got my daughter and now we must get him too!"
Clattering footsteps reverberated off the cobblestone steps followed by lights. They were getting closer. He panicked. He pushed himself off the wall and out into the lonely street.
Running from the townspeople was probably the hardest thing to do. This village was his home. How could he abandon it? Many times he thought of stopping and giving himself in. But the devil molded