Mangi was a small, scruffy dog. He lived a solitary life on the streets, a creature of habit in the urban landscape. Today, his birthday, was a non-event in the rhythm of his existence.
He was used to the harsh realities of his life – the hunger, the cold, the indifference of humans. But on his birthday, a sense of profound loneliness settled over him. He missed the warmth of a home, the comfort of a soft bed, the love of a human companion. He remembered the day he had been abandoned, a tiny, shivering pup, his eyes filled with fear and confusion.
As the day wore on, Mangi wandered the streets, his tail drooping like a wet leaf. He looked at his reflection in a puddle, trying to find something wrong with himself. But his reflection only showed a puppy with big, hopeful eyes.
He curled up in a sheltered corner, his body trembling with cold. The rain began to fall, a relentless downpour that soaked him to the bone. He closed his eyes, the memory of his mother’s warmth a distant phantom. He had never known the love of a family, the comfort of a home.
And so, Mangi drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with the phantom of a home, a place where he was loved and wanted. It was a dream that would never come true, a fantasy in a world that offered no such illusions.
