[ WP ] Everybody has a small animal with them representing their self image . A politician might have a well-groomed parrot , a bartender might have a pitbull ... This is the first time you 've ever met somebody with a bloody and abused familiar .

The trail of blood ran all the way down the block and around the corner, a streaky red line obfuscated by overlapping paw-prints. It was impossible to miss on the white pavement; nonetheless, my hen kept her beak pressed to the ground in her best bloodhound impression. With each totter forward, she clucked, her head bobbing back and forth. I followed at a distance, taking measured paces to avoid stepping into the blood. 
 
 We found the source as we rounded the corner. It was a wolf, lying at the base of a park bench, fur patched with varying shades of red and brown like he'd been applied to a giant nosebleed. It was everywhere, streaking from his head to his paws, and there was more seeping out from underneath his belly. Nubs of bone jutted out at awkward angles, and his ribs came into view as he shifted and opened his mouth. 
 
 Next to the wolf sat a man on a park bench; upon seeing our approach, he stood up and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. `` What you two gawking at?'' he said. 
 
 `` The blood. Did n't you notice it?'' My hen clucked in agreement. `` Is your wolf okay?'' 
 
 He shrugged and turned away, towards the sky. `` I guess.'' The wolf buried its face between its paws. 
 
 I'd half a mind to call the familiar abuse hotline right then. As I pulled out my phone, though, I noticed the man had turned his head slightly: he was looking at me out of the corner of my eye. We made peripheral eye contact, and he turned away again, letting out a sigh just loud enough to hear. 
 
 `` Is everything okay?'' 
 
 He shook his head and grunted. `` It's fine, miss. Everything's fine.'' The man shifted ever-so-slightly to the left, leaving just enough room on the bench for me to sit. It was an opportunity I readily took: there was something amiss here, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. 
 
 `` My name's Florence,'' I said, and I slid into the bench next to him and held out my hand. 
 
 `` Saul.'' Traces of a smile curled at his lips before he forced them back down. His sulk returned as he looked me in the eye. As we shook hands, I asked him what was wrong. 
 
 `` Everything's wrong,'' he said with another sigh. `` Everything. Just everything.'' His third sigh burned the sound permanently in my head. `` Got the worst luck.'' 
 
 I nodded, not in agreement, but in commiseration. `` It's hard out here, in the wide, wide world.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, my life is just hard. So hard. That's apt to describe it.'' He took a huge sniff that incited a reproachful cluck from my hen. `` Down on my luck. Ca n't get a job.'' He laughed and rubbed his nose with the corner of his sleeve. `` Economy's trash. Market's trash. Ten applications and no interviews. It all feels like it's stacked against you, you know?'' 
 
 I searched for the right words to say, but could n't find any. `` I'm sorry,'' I finally said. 
 
 `` Not your fault. We ca n't do anything.'' Saul receded into his hoodie and slumped an inch down the bench. `` It'd be fine, you know, normally. It's only temporary, you know?'' He looked at me expectantly, and I nodded. `` But it's so hard: every time you try and get up, the world's there to push you back down.'' His wolf howled in agreement. 
 
 `` The world is unforgiving,'' I said automatically, trying to push him into making his point. 
 
 `` I feel like... I'm a lone wolf out here.'' Saul chuckled and ran his fingers through his wolf's fur. `` Guess that's why he's my familiar. Just me and my wolf, up against the world.'' 
 
 `` But what about wolf packs?'' 
 
 `` Not every wolf runs with the pack.'' His tone was so harsh and brisk that it felt like an interruption. `` Some wolves are just different. They just do n't fit in. They're mis-they're ostracized. The pack is cruel; it's all about the unit, not the individual, you know?'' Saul let out his trademark sigh, but his face was still wrought with anguish. He grunted and turned away once again. 
 
 My hen began to peck at my feet. `` Guess she wants to go home,'' I muttered. Saul grunted again. 
 
 As I turned back around the corner, I took one last glance back at the wolf. All along its face, fresh blood seeped out of cuts that had n't been there before.
