dinohigh, no humans allowed!

I locked the apartment door behind me, the old, rusted bolt grinding into place with a reluctant groan. My keyring jingled faintly as I tested the lock twice, out of habit more than necessity. The paint on the door was peeling, revealing uneven layers of once-vibrant colors underneath. It was like this entire building, slowly rotting from the inside out, was trying to shed its past.

The hallway was dim, lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzed like an insect caught between life and death. The air was damp, carrying the faint stench of mildew and burnt coffee from some inconsiderate neighbor who couldn't figure out how to unplug their ancient machine. The elevator, of course, was out of order again. A sign hung haphazardly over the metal doors: OUT OF SERVICE—SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. It had been there so long that the tape holding it in place had started to curl.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. It was going to be one of those mornings.

The stairwell was worse. The narrow concrete steps seemed to multiply with every turn, stretching endlessly downward in a spiral of monotony and chipped railings. The missing posters of non dinosaurs littered the wall, what was the point in searching for them? They were most likely eaten by dinosaurs, 100s of them in the trash from last week. It's like every day the dinosaurs make it more and more obvious how much they enjoy murdering innocent people who have never wronged them. They just existed, that was their crime. and it was mine too. My footsteps echoed loudly in the confined space, a hollow sound that made the building feel emptier than it was. Every few flights, a door creaked open to release the muffled noise of someone's morning routine—snatches of conversation, the blare of a news channel, the sizzle of something frying on a stovetop. The doors would close just as quickly, as if retreating from my presence.

That's what this world does. It closes its doors to me.

By the time I reached the ground floor, my legs were burning slightly, and my mood had soured further. I pushed through the glass double doors leading outside, squinting against the sudden brightness.

The street was alive, a chaos of noise and movement. Dinosaurs of every shape and size bustled about, their voices blending into a cacophony that seemed louder than it needed to be. A group of compsognathus kids darted by, their small forms weaving through the crowd like fish in a river. They laughed loudly, their chirping tones grating against my ears. A towering brachiosaurus lumbered past them, her long neck craning downward as she spoke into a handheld communicator. Her massive feet sent slight tremors through the ground with each step, causing a nearby kiosk to rattle ominously.

I stepped onto the sidewalk, falling into the current of movement. The air was thick with smells—engine exhaust, the metallic tang of rain-soaked pavement, and the faint sweetness of some kind of fried pastry from a street vendor's cart. The vendor, a squat stegosaurus, eyed me warily as I passed, his tail flicking nervously behind him.

Some dinosaurs shot me disgusted glances, as usual. Others ignored me entirely, too absorbed in their own business to care about the human threading his way through their world. But I could feel it, that simmering undercurrent of disdain, as if my very presence was an offense.

Ahead of me, a young theropod girl rushed through the crowd, clutching a cake box tightly in her claws. Her feathers were a vibrant blue, ruffled slightly as she weaved through the sea of bodies. She looked hurried, her eyes darting nervously toward the clock tower down the street.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna be late," she muttered, her voice carrying just enough to reach me as I passed.

She didn't notice me, didn't even glance my way. Just another dinosaur rushing to meet the demands of their perfectly structured lives. It made my teeth clench.

I needed to vent my morning frustration—needed a target for all the anger that bubbled beneath the surface. Not this faceless mob of a community. No, it had to be someone specific. Someone whose rage I could make personal, whose gaze I could meet with my own.

I stuck out my foot.

The girl stumbled, her momentum throwing her forward as she yelped in surprise. She hit the ground hard, the cake box tumbling from her claws and landing in the gutter with a sickening splat. The cardboard crumpled, the lid popping open to reveal a frosted mess that was now soaking in sewage.

She scrambled to her knees, her claws scraping desperately at the ruined cake as if there was anything left to salvage. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at the mess, then up at me.

"Why?" she choked out, her voice trembling, the pain cracking through her words like fragile glass ready to shatter. Her wide, glossy eyes searched mine, desperately clawing for an answer. She couldn't fathom it—why a stranger would do this, why someone she'd never met would act so cruelly. Her expression begged for something, anything, to make sense of the chaos.

It was beautiful. Delicious.

Her pain—her sadness—was painted on her face as plainly as the rain splattered on the sidewalk. It was so… honest. She wasn't hiding her weakness, wasn't disguising the sharp sting of humiliation or sorrow. It was all there, raw and real, like an open wound.

And it reminded me of something.

That was my face. The face I stared at in the mirror every morning, the one I never let anyone else see. That was my face whenever a dinosaur hurled some insult at me, slung their disdain like a whip meant to leave marks. I couldn't let it show, though. If I did, I'd look weak. Pathetic.

But seeing that same expression now, displayed so openly on her stupid dinosaur face? It was… vindication.

I smiled, baring my teeth just enough to make it cutting. A little gift.

"Because you're a dinosaur," I said simply.

She blinked, her confusion nearly as satisfying as her despair. "What?" she asked, the single word dragging out in a breathless, disbelieving gasp.

Her face twisted, her brows furrowing, her tear-streaked cheeks quivering with growing rage. It was almost adorable, watching her try to piece it together like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

"You're a dinosaur," I repeated, my tone almost lazy now. "Why wouldn't you deserve this?"

Her mouth hung open for a moment, her brain visibly short-circuiting. "What! What the fuck kind of reason is that!" she screamed, her voice pitching high enough to draw a few passing glances from other pedestrians.

Her frustration boiled over, her tears giving way to anger. Her claws clenched into trembling fists, and she let out a guttural screech, raw and primal. Then she lunged at me.

It was laughably easy to sidestep her first clumsy blow. My hands stayed stuffed lazily in my pockets as I leaned back just enough for her claws to swipe harmlessly through the air. She stumbled, her momentum carrying her forward awkwardly, and for a moment, she was completely off-balance.

Perfect.

As she tried to regain her footing, I casually shifted my weight and swung my leg outward, catching her ankle just right. I didn't kick hard—barely more than a nudge—but it was enough. Her ankle twisted slightly, and she yelped, the sound a perfect mix of pain and indignation.

She hit the pavement hard, her knees skidding on the rough concrete. the cuts of the hard rock drawing blood, she landed in the same mud her cake had, and the rancid stench of sewage covered her. Her manicured claws scraped uselessly at the ground as she scrambled to push herself up, her face red with fury and humiliation.

"Oops, you dinosaurs are so clumsy, you're falling all over yourself, too dumb to walk straight. or stand up right," I said, my tone light, almost airy, with sassy monkey energy.

The look she shot me could've melted steel, her golden eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. She hissed through gritted teeth, her feathers puffing up like an angry bird trying to make itself look bigger.

"Bastard!" she spat, her voice cracking under the weight of her frustration.

She pushed herself upright, but her movements were jerky, uncoordinated. Her ankle was bothering her now—I could see the slight limp as she took a step toward me.

It made her slower. It made her weaker. It made her funnier.

I was already walking away, my hands still in my pockets, as casual as could be. Behind me, I could hear her footsteps pounding against the pavement as she gave chase, each step landing with a little too much force, a little too much desperation.

The bus pulled in just in time, its sleek, reinforced frame gleaming in the faint morning sunlight. The doors hissed open with a mechanical sigh, and I stepped on without looking back.

"Stop!" she yelled, her voice shrill and desperate.

But the doors slid shut just as she reached them, her claws slamming uselessly against the glass. She screamed, a sharp, piercing sound that echoed in the enclosed bus stop. The other passengers turned to look, some whispering to each other, others shaking their heads in mild amusement or annoyance.

The bus driver, an older ankylosaurus with a cracked horn and a tired expression, glanced over his shoulder at the commotion. His tail swayed lazily as he shifted gears, his gaze sliding toward me with faint curiosity.

"What was that about?" he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.

I smirked, giving him a nonchalant shrug.

"Bad breakup," I said smoothly.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Wowie, you really dodged a bullet there," he said, his tail giving a small, approving flick.

I nodded, moving down the aisle toward the back of the bus. Behind me, the girl was still outside, her fists pounding futilely against the glass. She shouted something I couldn't quite make out, her face twisted with pure rage.

It was delightful.

Toward the back of the bus. But as I walked down the aisle, a girl sitting in the middle grabbed my sleeve. She was a small, feathered dinosaur, her dark eyes narrowed as she glared up at me.

"I saw what happened," she said, her voice low but firm.

I looked at her, unfazed. "I know," I replied, smirking. "I saw it too. Damage to public property, attacking a transit vehicle—that falls under city jurisdiction, doesn't it? That kind of behavior wouldn't look great on her record."

Her expression shifted, disbelief flickering across her face. She couldn't believe it. I was lying through my teeth, twisting the situation into something it wasn't, and I didn't care.

Her eyes narrowed, her feathers bristling slightly. "You're lying," she said, her voice filled with venom.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough to make it personal. "If dinosaurs cared this much about lying, maybe you'd hold yourselves to the same standard," I said, my tone dripping with mock sincerity. "But you don't, do you? It's only a problem when it's someone else."

It wasn't about her. It was about the principle of it all—the reminder that even in their world, even in their territory, I could still carve out a space for myself.

They hated it.

And I loved it.