Stephan D. Fales is participating in the International Literary Creation Competition, 7th Edition, from Vicenza, Italy and is 67 years old. We thank him for his participation and wish him success. (Below is the first chapter of the book „Welcome Home, Charlie!”)

Welcome Home, Charlie!

Chapter One

Born in the Shadows

I was born in a field with my littermates. The aroma of grass, dirt, and mom’s scent was my whole life for weeks. The scent of mother’s milk clung to all of us, mixed with the pungent perfume of Mom’s coat—a blend of dust, plant-sweetness, and something sour that made me hesitate each time I inhaled.

We were a mismatched group. None of us looked alike. My siblings’ fur carried wild swirls of color, while mine was stark, divided—black and white in clean, bold patches. My belly was mostly white, with only the tips of my paws matching. My legs stood straight and black, like shadows, while my sides were splashed with chaotic patterns of both. I thought it was pretty cool, but I was different from the rest.

I remember wrestling with my siblings during Mom’s long hours away from our hideout, tumbling in the tangled grass. Even though we played and wrestled, something never felt quite right. We were together, yet separate—just a collection of small bodies rolling through the grass, drawn together by instinct rather than true connection. I felt it when we settled for the night, curled in a huddle for warmth. I slept among them, but I never felt tethered. Maybe it was because I was different. My coat let me slip into the shadows, making me part of the landscape rather than part of them.

I used to watch the others and question whether I truly belonged. Something about me felt different, as though a secret had been stitched into my very fur. At night, when the world softened and dimmed, I would disappear into the darkness—swallowed by the shadows while they remained outlined in the fading light. It was as if the dusk itself recognized me, wrapping me in its embrace. I didn’t know why, but I could feel it carried meaning. Perhaps I was meant to wander where they could not follow.

As we grew older we scattered into the field, each of us exploring different patches of earth and sky. Today, I had my eye on a creature clinging to a blade of grass, its tiny body twitching in the breeze. I watched it, muscles coiled, thinking only of the taste and the rush of the hunt.

Then the shadow came.

The hair on my neck raised, a prickling sensation running down my spine to the tip of my tail. I remained perfectly still, ears flicking to the distant, shrill cries from the trees. My prey was within reach. Instinct told me to strike, so I did. The insect crunched in my teeth, juices bursting into my mouth as I quickly swallowed. The thrill of catching something—of being a hunter—was satisfying.

And then, just as easily, I saw what it meant to be hunted.

A rush of air, a scream, then silence. I turned my head in time to see the winged creature lifting off, talons curled around my sibling’s limp body. My muscles locked, every part of me braced—but I stayed where I was. The moment had already passed. There was no point in moving. It had already happened.

I dropped low to the ground, slipping deeper into the shadows, and quietly traced my steps back to the hideout. The number of us had changed. The loss felt distant, like watching a branch snap in the wind. One moment there, then gone.

Seeing the creature taking my sibling away, I felt drawn back toward our hideout. I’m wondering if the others are okay. I also feel a weird need to protect the others. I can smell dry dust, dirt, the fresh aroma of plants, and the strong, pungent scent of our hideout as I near.

The breeze stirs the leaves in the trees, but everything else is eerily still. I stop.

“Why is it so quiet?”

I decide to stay where I am, waiting for my siblings to appear. Lowering myself onto my paws, I rest—alert, ready to move if needed. The shadows stretch around me, wrapping me in their cover. Hidden, my breathing is slow and steady, my heart calm. The sun’s warmth fades from my fur as the sky dims. “Still, nobody has returned.”

I flick my ears, listening. Nothing. No rustling in the grass, no familiar scents drifting toward me. “Are they all waiting for a sign of survivors?”

I press my nose to the ground, inhaling deeply. “No fresh scent trails. No movement.”

A strange heaviness settles in my chest.

Confident that I am unseen, I creep forward toward the hideout. Every four steps, I pause, flicking my ears to catch any sound. The sky darkens, swallowing the last traces of light. I scurry into the hideout, quickly turning to face the outside.

Silence.

I wait. I listen. I watch.

Nobody comes back.

The place feels empty. Cold.

I sniff the air again, searching for something—anything—that tells me I am not alone. But the only scent here is my own.

“What now?”

I crouch, tensed for a quick escape, my muscles coiled. The need to protect is gone, replaced by something heavier. “I didn’t mind being alone—until now. Now it feels like there’s no choice. I am truly alone.”

I close my eyes, pressing my body into the shadows. “Do I stay? Do I leave?”

For the first time, I realize—there is nothing keeping me here..