Min was a tiny, trembling ball of fur. His world was a blur of shadows and unfamiliar scents. Today, a day that should have been filled with the warmth of his mother’s milk and the comfort of her embrace, was a day of bitter desolation. It was his birthday, a cruel irony that mirrored the harshness of his world.
He remembered the soft, rhythmic thump of his mother’s heartbeat, the gentle warmth of her body. But those memories were fading like morning mist, replaced by the cold, hard reality of abandonment. His tiny world had been shattered, leaving him alone and afraid.
The world outside the cardboard box was a cacophony of unfamiliar sounds. Cars honked, people rushed, and the wind whipped at his delicate body. He whimpered, his tiny voice lost in the overwhelming noise. Hunger gnawed at his belly, a constant, aching reminder of his helplessness.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows, Min curled into a tighter ball. Fear crept into his heart, a cold, icy hand that gripped him tightly. He missed his mother’s comforting presence, her protective warmth. The world was a terrifying place without her.
There were no birthday songs, no playful nips, no joyous barks. Just the cold indifference of the city and the gnawing emptiness in his belly. His birthday was a cruel joke, a stark reminder of his solitude.
As darkness enveloped him, Min closed his eyes, his tiny heart filled with a sorrow too big for his small body. He dreamt of a world where he was safe, where he was loved, where he belonged. But when he woke, the harsh reality of his abandonment was laid bare.
Another day dawned, and with it, another year of life, or perhaps simply survival. Min’s birthday was a silent marker of a life marked by tragedy, a life that had begun with abandonment and continued with uncertainty.
