Echoes of Discarded Lives

Chapter 7

The city breathes in rust and exhales dust. I breathe it too, a constant companion, a gritty film on my teeth, a whisper in my lungs. It’s where I live, this kingdom of cracked pavement and indifferent skies. My throne? A cardboard box, cushioned by yesterday’s news. My crown? A tangle of hair that hasn’t seen a comb in weeks. But I rule here, in my own way, a monarch of the forgotten corners.

They call me a survivor. I wear the title like a worn-out coat, familiar, a little too big, but it keeps out some of the chill. Each sunrise is a small, fierce rebellion against the night. Each sunset, a quiet victory whispered to the concrete. The gnawing ache in my belly is a familiar song, a rhythm I’ve learned to dance to. The cold bites, yes, but it also reminds me I’m alive. And that’s something. That’s everything.