Mine was a stray dog, she had spent her entire life on the unforgiving streets, her birthday, a mere footnote in the relentless march of time. She had no memory of a home, no recollection of a loving family. Her world was a harsh, unforgiving landscape, where food was scarce and danger was a constant companion.
Today, the hunger gnawed at her with particular intensity. Her stomach was a hollow echo, a constant reminder of her empty existence. She scavenged for scraps, her eyes scanning the ground with desperate hope. The city, a place of abundance for some, was a desert for her.
She was a shadow in the bustling metropolis, a creature existing on the fringes of human life. People hurried past, their eyes fixed on the ground, oblivious to the life that existed at their feet. She was invisible, a ghost in a world that cared little for its forgotten inhabitants.
As the day wore on, a sense of despair washed over her. She found a quiet corner, a place where she could be alone with her thoughts. The city lights were a distant, cold beauty, offering no warmth or comfort. She curled into a ball, her body trembling from cold and hunger. In the darkness, she dreamt of a different life, a life filled with warmth, food, and love. But when she woke, reality was a harsh slap in the face.
Another day had passed, another birthday marked by solitude and hunger. Mine was a survivor, a creature defined by resilience. Yet, in the depths of her weary heart, a flicker of hope remained. Perhaps, just perhaps, tomorrow would bring a different outcome.
