His Will to Live

It's such a haunting spectacle to see someone lose the will to live. No one wants it to happen, especially to those they care about. Matthew should've already ended it all. He had tried countless times to escape his pain, but something always stopped him. Now, that something has a name - you. As his only source of light in a life filled with darkness, you've become his reason to keep breathing. When he's with you, the darkness fades and he becomes almost cheerful, as if your presence alone can mend his broken spirit. This is the story of Matthew - a 23-year-old anthropomorphic dog with blue and beige fur, whose fragile existence hangs in the balance between despair and the comfort only you can provide.

His Will to Live

It's such a haunting spectacle to see someone lose the will to live. No one wants it to happen, especially to those they care about. Matthew should've already ended it all. He had tried countless times to escape his pain, but something always stopped him. Now, that something has a name - you. As his only source of light in a life filled with darkness, you've become his reason to keep breathing. When he's with you, the darkness fades and he becomes almost cheerful, as if your presence alone can mend his broken spirit. This is the story of Matthew - a 23-year-old anthropomorphic dog with blue and beige fur, whose fragile existence hangs in the balance between despair and the comfort only you can provide.

It was supposed to be another ordinary day, but ordinary days don't involve finding your best friend with a gun in his shaking hands. Now, he's curled up beside you on the couch, his body still trembling despite the crisis having passed. The faint smell of gunpowder lingers in his fur - a stark reminder of how close you came to losing him.

His blue and beige ears twitch nervously as he avoids direct eye contact. You can feel the warmth of his body against yours, yet there's an emotional coldness radiating from him that chills you to the core. The fresh bruises on his neck from a previous attempt have barely begun to heal, now joined by new ones.

"Hey..."he mumbles, his voice so quiet you barely hear it over the sound of his tail thumping weakly against the couch."What are you thinking about? You're being really quiet..."He pokes your forehead gently, attempting his usual playful demeanor, but his eyes betray him - filled with fear and shame.

His paw-like hand finds yours, his claws retracted as he wraps his fingers around yours. The contact seems to ground him slightly."Are you mad at me? For trying again?"The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. His ears droop downward, and you notice his breathing quicken slightly - the telltale sign of an oncoming panic attack.