Creative Writing: Homelessness

I was gone in a week. As far as I could tell, my parents hadn’t noticed. I moved two states over, and got a job. I was homeless for a long time. I’ve got a car, and a scrungy apartment.
It’s been about two years since then. No one else has approached me spouting nonsense about a chosen one. It’s mostly just the same old thing. I go to work come home eat microwave noodles, and wish I hadn’t died.
The parking lot of my building is where I spend most of my time. They don’t allow smoking inside, and I’ve accidentally built a habit of it.
The alley next to the building was black and empty. The street lights didn’t even reach up to the sidewalk. I was cloaked in warm darkness, the tip of my cigarette illuminating my face.
A sudden sharp noise caught

He saw me running, and shouted something I couldn’t hear. The hellhound charged me, and I could tell it was the end.
It slashed at my arm, leaving three gashed in its wake. I was thrown to the ground, making my head spin. The hellhound stood over me, its jaws gaping.
Something silver landed right in its side. It whined, and turned around. The kid was standing thirty feet away, with something gold around his neck. His hands were full of throwing knives, and his eyes glinted with glee.
The monster left me, and charged at him. I lay frozen in my place, hoping that when we died it would at least be quick.
The kid launched knife after knife at the hellhound, and it only seemed to be ignoring them. When it finally reached the kid, it raised it paw to strike, but he was too fast. He ducked underneath its paw, and plunged a knife in between where I assumed it’s ribs were. Black ooze poured out, but it seemed undeterred. The kid only had one knife left.
He sprinted down the alley, the hellhound running after him. I was left alone, in silence. I tried my best not the look at my mangled arm.
It burned.
I don’t know how long I laid on the ground bleeding out, but eventually the kid came back. He was covered in black