The dog Meat, abandoned at a young age, he had learned to survive on scraps and the kindness of strangers. Today, his fifth birthday, was a stark reminder of the harsh reality of his life.
There were no birthday cakes, no presents, no loving pats. Instead, there was the constant gnawing of hunger, the cold bite of the night, and the loneliness that was a permanent companion. His days were a monotonous cycle of scavenging, finding shelter, and avoiding the indifferent gaze of passersby.
Today, the hunger was particularly acute. His stomach growled like a thunderclap, a constant reminder of his empty belly. He craved a full meal, a feast to celebrate his unwanted milestone. But the world offered little in the way of sustenance. Scraps were scarce, and competition for them fierce.
As the day wore on, his weakness grew. His legs trembled, and his vision blurred. Yet, he persisted, driven by an instinct for survival. He was a ghost in the bustling city, a shadow that moved with the rhythm of the streets.
As night fell, Metal found a quiet spot beneath a bridge. The city lights were a distant, cold beauty, offering no warmth or comfort. He curled into a ball, his large body trembling from hunger and cold. In the darkness, he dreamt of a feast, of a table laden with food. But when he woke, reality was a harsh slap in the face.
Another day had passed, another birthday marked by emptiness. Meat was a survivor, a creature defined by resilience. Yet, the hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his plight. In the depths of his weary heart, a flicker of hope remained. Perhaps, just perhaps, tomorrow would bring a different outcome.
