In a forgotten corner of a noisy city, two dogs roamed the streets — brothers, both ragged and unloved. They were born into a world that never wanted them, abandoned as soon as they were old enough to open their eyes. They had no names, only the comfort of each other’s company, and though they were brothers by blood, they had been cursed by the world as “ugly.”
The first brother, bigger and scruffier, had a patchy coat, missing fur on his back, and an eye that never quite opened fully. The second brother was smaller and limped with every step; his face was lopsided, with one ear torn and a twisted tail that dragged behind him. They knew no kindness from humans, only kicks and shouts that sent them scattering from sidewalks, alleys, and parks.
They wandered as vagrants — under bridges, through dirty streets, always looking for scraps of food to survive. Day by day, they fought hunger, rain, and the biting cold of the night. But what hurt most was not the weather or the hunger. It was the loneliness — the way people turned away when they saw them, whispered words of disgust, or pitied them from a distance.
Sometimes, they would find an old cardboard box to crawl into, pressing close to keep warm, or a dark corner behind a dumpster where no one would chase them away. On bad days, they were pelted with stones or chased by other dogs. On good days, they might find a half-eaten sandwich or a puddle to drink from. Life was a cycle of struggle, but as long as they had each other, they pushed on.
One evening, the brothers curled up beneath the awning of a shuttered bakery, hoping the rain wouldn’t find them there. The smaller brother shivered, and the bigger one pressed closer, trying to shield him from the cold. The city lights flickered above them, casting long shadows as night deepened.
“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” the smaller brother whispered, his voice weak but filled with a fragile hope.
“Maybe,” the bigger one answered, though he knew their life would always be the same — wandering, hiding, and being forgotten.
But deep down, neither of them truly cared about what others thought anymore. They had each other. That was all they ever had, and all they ever needed.
—
As time went on, the streets began to feel even colder. The nights stretched longer, and food became scarcer. The smaller brother grew weaker with every passing day, and the bigger one, though he tried to stay strong, could feel his heart cracking.
One bitter morning, as the first frost glazed the ground, the smaller brother collapsed. He couldn’t walk any further.
“Leave me, brother,” he whispered. “You can find food. You can survive.”
But the bigger brother lay down beside him, nudging him gently with his nose. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.
The smaller brother smiled faintly, his eyes half-closed. “I’m glad… I have you.”
They huddled together as the morning light dimmed behind gray clouds. They knew that the world might never see them for what they truly were: two souls who loved fiercely in a place that showed them no kindness. But they didn’t need the world’s approval. They had lived together, fought together, and they would rest together.
And in the end, it was not loneliness that claimed them — but love.
As the streets carried on with their noise, and the people hurried past without noticing, two small, tattered bodies lay still beneath the awning of the bakery, their spirits finally at peace. No longer wandering. No longer searching.
They were home. Together.
