Strong hands for the weak

Puddles in an alleyway

Sorry this ones a bad one, but I wrote it a long time ago O.o

Prompt|| The main character in your story is a dog in trouble. Write a story from its point of view (in first person).

   The strange lights illuminate my surroundings and the sound of car horns blaring leave a ringing sensation buzzing through my skull. My paws that have been rubbed raw from days of travel throb as I slowly walk through the alleyway where I had first encountered the ugly, pink skinned animals. I hadn't been sure of what they were, and I'm still not quite certain, but I do know that they're bad news.
   Swinging my head either way I continue to look at either wall on my left and right. The wall is made up of cinder colored blocks that have a green tinted plant growing up the sides. The alleyway is dark and my whiskers help to guide me through the narrow walkway. Puddles underfoot soak my paws all the way up to nearly my stomach, leaving my dry upper coat as the only thing to keep me warm against the cold, crisp autumn night. My eyes are poor in the night, but I still try to glance in front and behind me just in case the pink creatures come for me again.
    By the time I make it to the end of the alleyway my body is already about to give up on me. I've been running from those wretched creatures for nearly two days.
    I part my jaw breathing in deeply before I ready myself for the next alleyway. The air tastes of garbage, exhaust fumes, fresh rain, and something else that's always been hard to pin point. Instead of staying in the same alleyway I pad into the one directly to my left and lay down beside a large green colored box. Normally I help myself to the contents the garbage box has to offer, but I'm too tired to eat. I rest my gray furred head onto my paws and try to sleep, but even then my ears stay erect and alert.
   There's a faint echo of sound towards my end of the alley, but I'm too exhausted to stand up, instead I ignore it. Only when the sound of a car engines starts do I sit up from my meek slumber. The sound that has tormented me my entire life began to find a new sound. A new familiar, but petrifying sound. It was then, the ones that tried to force me into hurting others of my kind. Despite my aching joints and raw pads, I manage to fumble around in my hairs until I happened to run.
    I still remember her face. Her snout a shade of pink that shamed the roses in the flower shop. Her long fur a shade of cream and ginger that could make any other dog jealous. They tore her apart for their entertainment and forced other dogs more aggressive than me to do their dirty work.
    My paws pound against the concrete ground and make a loud echo through the alleyway. I've ran away before, but what's to come when I'm so tired I can no longer stand. How long am I going to keep running from the double that always seems to follow me?