Two Small Souls Under One Tree

ORIENTATION
A nameless boy had lived alone since he was six. The world had pushed him out long before he could understand what life truly meant. His home was nothing more than a large cardboard box he found behind an old building. Fragile, leaking, ugly, yet it was the only thing that tried to protect him from the cold nights. Every day he crawled out of that box with an empty stomach, hoping to find coins or leftovers. The city passed by him without eyes, as if he were nothing more than a shadow that had never existed.

COMPLICATION
One day, just like the days before, he stopped in front of a bakery whose fogged glass hid the warm glow inside. The scent of fresh bread stabbed into his empty stomach. Hope and desperation collided in him until he finally grabbed a loaf and ran as fast as he could. That night, while eating the bread inside his cardboard shelter, a cat appeared. Thin, limping, its fur tangled. At first he was scared, but the cat only meowed softly and settled beside him, as if saying they were the same. Days passed, and they lived together. Even though both were hungry, the cat always came back with something. Small scraps, dirty, but enough to share. Until one morning, the cat didn’t return. Panic rose in the boy’s chest. He began searching everywhere the cat usually went, terrified of losing the only creature that cared about him.

CLIMAX
Shouts from the meat market answered him. A cat sprinted away with a chunk of meat in its mouth, chased by an angry guard. The wooden stick struck the small body. The crack split the air. The boy ran, squeezing between adult legs, catching the limp cat in his arms. He shook the small body, whispering pleas, holding back tears he didn’t know he could cry. The cat opened its eyes one last time and let out the faintest “meow.” Then it went still.

RESOLUTION
Ignoring the stares, the boy walked while clutching the cat’s cold body. He reached a large tree at the edge of the city, its roots like old hands gripping the earth. There he dug the soil with stones, with his nails, with his bleeding palms. He wrapped the cat in the only shirt he owned, then gently lowered it into the ground and covered it with soil. Night fell. The cold wind stung his skin, yet he remained sitting in front of the small mound. Leaning his head against the tree, he whispered, “You were my family…” before closing his eyes. This time, his body was too tired to wake again.