Pan was a small, trembling puppy, his world reduced to a cardboard box and the harsh indifference of the city. Today was his first birthday, a milestone marked by emptiness. Hunger gnawed at his tiny belly, a constant, relentless companion.
The world outside was a blur of noise and movement, a stark contrast to the quiet comfort he had once known. He was a ghost in this bustling metropolis, a creature of shadows. People hurried past, their eyes fixed on the ground, oblivious to the small, hopeful gaze that followed them.
His day was a relentless pursuit of sustenance. He scavenged for scraps, his tiny body growing weaker with each passing hour. There were no birthday treats, no celebratory bones, just the constant battle for survival. The city, a place of abundance for some, was a desert for him.
As the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows, Pan curled up in his box, his body shivering. The world was a cold, unforgiving place, and he was a tiny, vulnerable creature. In the darkness, he dreamt of a warm bowl of food, of the taste of meat and the satisfaction of a full belly.
His birthday wish was simple: a decent meal. It was a small desire, a basic need, yet it seemed unattainable in this harsh world. As he drifted off to sleep, hunger gnawed at him, but hope, a flicker in the darkness, kept him alive.
