May had no recollection of a time when she wasn’t alone. The world had always been a cold, indifferent place, a concrete jungle teeming with indifferent lives. She was a ghost in this bustling city, a silent specter in the grand scheme of things.
Today was her birthday. Or at least, she assumed it was. She had no way of knowing, no one to mark the passage of time for her. It was just another day, a day like any other, filled with the same emptiness that had been her constant companion.
She remembered warmth once, a soft, comforting place filled with the rhythmic thump of a heartbeat and the soothing scent of milk. But those memories were as fleeting as morning mist, dissipating into the harsh reality of her existence.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, melancholy shadows over the city, May found a refuge beneath a discarded cardboard box. The world seemed quieter now, the cacophony of city life replaced by a haunting silence. She curled into a tight ball, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
There were no birthday songs, no celebratory pats, no warm embraces. Just the cold, indifferent city and the gnawing emptiness in her belly. She was a forgotten soul, a stray puppy whose only wish was to belong.
As sleep claimed her weary body, she dreamt of a home, a place filled with laughter and warmth. She dreamt of a gentle hand scratching behind her ears, of a soft lap to curl up on. But when she woke, the harsh reality of her existence was laid bare.
Another day dawned, and with it, another year of solitude. May’s birthday was a silent marker of a life lived in obscurity. She was just a speck in the grand tapestry of existence, a forgotten piece of the puzzle that no one seemed to miss.
