005 — Dog. Cat. Flag. | Talon Z. Gray

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A white dog and a black cat aren’t opposites—
they’re just different.

As an official Handler of the System, I once had a front-row seat to this absurdity.
We were documenting the so-called natural order.
Sometimes we placed species against species.
They claimed it wasn’t for entertainment.
They called it “data.”
They manufactured the truth.

Opposites imply contradiction:
day and night.
fire and ice.
But a dog and a cat?
They’re both animals.
Both mammals.
Both pets.

At first, my job was simple:
Put the animals in the enclosure.
Observe. Record.
Weeks passed—
Nothing.
They shared water.
They slept in separate corners.
No conflict. No story.

So they ordered me to shrink the enclosure.
Change the feeding times.
Deprive. Agitate.
It grew sadistic.
That was my last stand.

Their colors may clash—
but contrast is not war.
Contrast is not enemy.
Contrast is not opposite.

They twist animals into symbols,
then pit symbols against each other
to justify their power.

Now it’s not just cats and dogs—
it’s cat people. Dog people.
A taxonomy of loyalty.

My next assignment was banners.
The flags for all the mountain factions.
They wanted them fierce.
Intimidating.
Each flag a spell:
Snarling animals, eyes burning with menace.
Fear woven into cloth.

“Show the world how unique we are.”
“Capture the essence of strength.”
“Highlight our dark magic.”

So I did what they asked.
And now, when I look down from the ridge,
they no longer see each other—
only the flags.

The flags became t-shirts,
then hats,
then teams,
then countries,
then entire worlds.

But in the black of night,
a white flag flickers.
Not surrender—
just contrast.
Just color against the abyss.