Goki didn’t know his age, let alone his birthday. Time was a blur of hunger, cold, and fear. He was a survivor, a ghost haunting the city’s underbelly. Abandoned as a pup, he’d learned to fend for himself, to scavenge for scraps, and to find shelter in the shadows of human existence.
Today was no different from any other. The dawn broke, casting a cold, gray light on the city. Goki emerged from the alleyway, his ribs a stark outline against his matted fur. Hunger gnawed at his insides, a constant companion. He wandered the streets, his eyes scanning for potential scraps, his ears alert to the sound of a kind heart.
He remembered the warmth of a soft bed, the comforting scent of his mother, the playful tussles with his siblings. But those memories were fading, replaced by the harsh realities of street life. He was a shadow, a silent observer of the human world, a creature of instinct driven by survival.
As the day wore on, the city began to bustle. People hurried past, their eyes fixed on their own world. Goki was invisible, a mere speck in the grand scheme of things. He longed for a touch of kindness, a gentle word, a scrap of food. But the world was indifferent, and he was alone.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, mournful shadows, Goki found a sheltered spot beneath a discarded cardboard box. The city’s cacophony faded, replaced by the quietude of the night. He curled up, his body trembling from cold and hunger. There were no birthday wishes, no presents, no warm embrace. Just the harsh reality of his existence.
Another day had passed, unmarked and forgotten. For Goki, it was just another day of survival, a relentless cycle of hunger, cold, and loneliness.
