Dawn arrived in shades of blue and gold, spilling over the empty city streets. Gerald opened his eyes and stretched his legs, one at a time, flexing his toes like a series of paws. 

He yawned deeply, his tongue curling out farther than it should, as it always did in the morning. The mirror beside his bed gleamed with early sunlight, catching his eye. He stood, scratching an itch behind his ear with a careless vigor, and padded over, his bare feet slapping softly against the hardwood floor.

The face in the mirror had thinning brown hair and eyes that were too human and uncertain to feel fully right. He blinked at it, cocking his head, his eyes narrowing. 

“Who’s that?” he whispered to himself. The whisper felt strange in his mouth; speaking, in general, had always felt somewhat foreign to him. The mirror tilted slightly, as if it might answer. But mirrors don’t speak.

At least, not in words.

Outside, Gerald could hear the world beginning to stir. His neighbors clanked their way out of apartments, sniffing the morning air, grumbling, shuffling toward work like cattle with briefcases. 

Gerald had no briefcase, no real need for work. He didn’t care for such things. He did, however, care for the squirrel he could see in the alley, flicking its tail and darting around the garbage cans. 

His feet tingled, and his heart began to race. Before he could think to stop himself, he had crouched low and bounded down the stairs, a strange thrill coursing through him.

He crashed through the front door of his building, practically falling onto the pavement. The squirrel darted up the side of the nearest tree, chittering down at him with a disdain he couldn’t comprehend but felt somewhere deep, like a low, aching whine. 

The thing that was not quite Gerald but also undeniably him stood, sniffing the air. His nostrils flared. He could smell the faint perfume of garbage, a taxi’s sour exhaust, and the tart, peppery musk of the park grass only a few blocks away. 

His senses felt sharper, clearer. The asphalt beneath his toes pulsed with the warmth of the early sun, and his muscles buzzed with a kind of restless electricity.

It was a fine day to be a dog.

As he strolled to the park, Gerald didn’t question the tilt of his body, his head lower than usual, his spine elongated and light. He walked on all fours, at least in his mind, though to any onlookers, he might’ve simply looked like a man with an odd hunch in his back, an eerie looseness in his stride. 

He made it to the park without anyone giving him so much as a second look. Why would they? A man wandering around the park with a look of intent in his eye wasn’t so unusual here, even if his fingers twitched like claws and his lips curled into a grin a little too wide.

It was only when Gerald found the old fountain in the center of the park that he stopped. He circled it a few times, taking in its chipped marble and the fine mist rising from the spray of water. 

The air here tasted fresher, laced with damp earth and a dozen mingled scents he couldn’t quite place. Gerald felt a memory scratching at the back of his mind, something half-forgotten, like a bone buried deep under soft soil.

The memory returned in flashes: A long, winding road, hot in the summer sun. The sound of laughter, a woman’s voice calling his name. 

A hand scratching his ears, soft and warm. The smell of something delicious, grilled meat, maybe, with the faintest hint of pepper. It was like watching scenes from someone else’s life. A shiver ran through him, something cold and uncanny.

He wanted to bark. But instead, he closed his eyes and let the memory rise up, its shape taking form in his mind: he was on a beach somewhere, running beside the waves, kicking up sand with every loping step, the wind tugging at his fur, the salt stinging his eyes. 

It was him—he was sure of it. His paws sinking into wet sand, his teeth bared in joy. For the first time since waking, Gerald felt truly alive.

And then he saw her—a woman on the beach, waving to him. Her face was a blur, but her laugh rang out, clear and bright. The woman, whoever she was, felt like home. But before he could reach her, the vision faded, and he was back by the fountain, staring into the water, his face reflected back in ripples and fragments.

The last of the memory slipped away like fog, leaving him feeling strangely empty, like a dog left behind at the wrong house. 

But there was something new—a sense of purpose. He understood, now, that he was looking for something, or maybe someone. His paws—or rather, his hands—itched to dig, search, and find that scent again.

He stood up and tilted his head back, the sunlight glinting in his eyes. Somewhere in the city, he was certain, was a hint of her scent, a trace of that warm, laughing face. He was close, he could feel it. His nose twitched, and his feet moved before he knew where he was going.

The city streets lay open before him, full of scents and shadows and strange, lovely mysteries, and he set off, following the faintest wisp of memory. He was a hound on the hunt, tracking something lost but never forgotten, driven by the echo of a life he barely remembered.

And Gerald, who was a man, but not quite, followed that scent into the sunrise, his heart pounding with an old, fierce joy.

The End