The Fidelity of Apprehension

It was the dog. The dog that meandered in the streets roving for any wayward morsel convinced him and imbued him with a fatalistic confidence. The rigid boy's stoic face remained unmoved at the sight of it, and yet behind it the inhibitions were disappearing, the incessant expectation of imminent tragedy, the anguish caused by trepid anticipation of anguish, dissipated into the stale night to be lost amongst the multitudes of disregarded screaming panics. 
Kyle's impressionable brown eyes languished in confusion from a youthful face, strafing back and forth, for the pretty girl with whom he'd had only a moment's contact. He wanted to be near her again, near her feet that ambled in varying motion, spontaneously bursting with a bounding run, facetiously stomping in tiny hops, or striding past the surroundings that were unremarkable in comparison to her, effusing individuality. To simply walk with her would be divine, to be instilled with her puerile passion, her ability to treat every breath as something invigorating and laugh the mortality that was ever present within him away. He felt that her subjects could ramble forever, her precocious mind would bring forth all the beauty and all the terrors and judge them equally with the same irreverent mockery that was inherent in her smile, her smile that she gave to nothing, everything, even him. 
With a recursive grimace at his ruminations of doom, how one so defined by an innate perfection in any situation as her could ever consider a pockmarked, bespectacled, stolid face with anything but contempt, how her benign physiognomy that so entranced him would let loathing manifest itself and contort into a bellicose glare, how he was quite simply not worthy of even her company, he walked with his head buried beneath his pity, until he saw the dog. 
The matted hair and gnarled teeth gnashed at the air threateningly, accompanied by a sound that may have once been fearsome. Glazed eyes rolled, whether in the fervor of panic or hatred Kyle could not discern, crowning an abused muzzle that uttered an imitation of what the dog had been long ago. The thing was pathetic, holistically contemptible, and Kyle would not tolerate such an abominable being. Its sight incited in him a strange emotion that augmented the restlessness his soul had felt at the instant of his infatuation, and combining his anger at his theoretical inabilities with the burgeoning feeling, he ran away in panic, soon to hear the howl over the clattering of his shoes pursue him with a tone of melancholy with which he was familiar. 
It was a cold night, and the dark, as always, confined one to loneliness. It was from this prison he then was empowered to abscond, slipping past negligent guards and impediments that had before seemed formidable but were now surpassed with ease. Kyle empathized. Could there be nothing more pitiable than that mutt? he wondered, while imagining himself in its place; the hungry, eschewed beast yet again surreptitiously fields the cityscape, applying a ferocity forced upon him by the exigencies of survival. His apprehension was nothing. If this girl rejected his offer to be an acquaintance, if the scenario his mind repetitiously imagined of her refusal even to disclose to him, what he believed would be, the sonorous melody of her voice was prophetic, his life would still remain intact, he would still be able to remain himself, not being transmogrified under the duress of the world's apathy. 
From the moment his altruistic tendencies emerged, incited by pity for someone beside himself, kneeling down with food in his hand, he resolved that by this action he was receiving the bone that the dog so languished for. The dog's eyes were as wet as its mouth, a slavering jaw that opened and closed, snapping shut only to gape involuntarily at the excitement of the sight of food, its gaze darting back and forth to assay the situation, incessantly suspicious of perfidy. Holding his palm towards the dog's muzzle magnanimously, Kyle insisted with a primeval gesticulation that the dog ingest this generous boon, his offer in recompense for imagining his similarity in misery. 
Eyes snapped, teeth closed, blood flowed.
The boy jumped back in pain, grasping his wound incredulously, injured not by the sanguine ivory in the dog's leaping mouth, but the destroyed apparition of a bond, the loss of the illusion of commiseration. Falling back onto the concrete, beyond the interests of any of the inhabitants of the neighborhood and departed from the simple mind of the ferocious canine, he spread his body to the extent of its length in the middle of the road, thinking before he fainted that now she will never accept me, or reciprocate my hopeless infatuation. She will never care about me.