Mako didn’t know his age, but he sensed today was different. A cold ache settled in his tiny heart, a feeling he couldn’t quite understand. He was a street puppy, his world a harsh, unforgiving concrete jungle. Abandoned at birth, he had never known the warmth of a mother’s love, the comfort of a soft nest.
He remembered fleeting images of warmth, of a gentle heartbeat, of being cradled in soft fur. But these memories were fading, replaced by the harsh realities of street life. Hunger was a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that never truly subsided.
Today, as the sun climbed higher, casting long, indifferent shadows, Mako wandered the streets, his tiny body a fragile silhouette against the urban landscape. People hurried past, their lives a world away from his. He was invisible, a shadow in their bustling existence. He longed for a touch of kindness, a warm meal, a safe place to sleep. But the city offered little in the way of compassion.
As the day wore on, the city began to hum with activity. People went about their lives, oblivious to the tiny creature struggling to survive. Mako found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box. The cold seeped into his bones, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He curled up, his small body trembling. It was his first birthday, a day marked by loneliness and despair.
He missed his mother, a love he’d never known but deeply yearned for. He dreamed of her warmth, her protection, the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat. But these were mere fantasies, illusions to escape the harsh reality of his existence. As sleep claimed him, he was alone, a tiny, lost soul in a vast, indifferent world.
