The shadow of hunger

Now, I no longer belong to the world of the living, yet my spirit still wanders the streets where I once struggled to survive. I knock on the same doors, drift past the same alleys, haunting the corners where I once begged with dignity in my eyes and pain in my voice. But now… something has changed.🥰

People sense me.😌

They feel the sudden chill in the air. They glance behind them with unease. They place food outside their doors—not for the poor, but for the unknown. Maybe out of guilt. Maybe fear. But when I was alive, I asked with folded hands, voice trembling with hunger—and they turned away.😔

Today, they offer food to a ghost.

Back then, they ignored a living man.

One night, while the city slept beneath a dull orange sky, I saw a small child curled up on the pavement, his hands clutching a hollow stomach. That sight cracked something inside me. I moved toward him, a reflex from a time when I had hands that could help. But I am only a shadow now—weightless, powerless. I cannot hold. I cannot heal.

Invisible tears rolled down my cheeks—tears no one would ever see.

Then, something happened. A woman appeared, walking briskly through the night. She noticed the boy. Without hesitation, she knelt, pulled a piece of bread from her bag, and placed it gently in his hands. The boy’s eyes lit up, his lips curling into a grateful smile.

And something inside me softened.

That single act, so small yet so full of humanity, eased the storm in my hollow chest. Maybe the sorrow of my life had not vanished into silence. Maybe it echoed in the streets, nudging hearts awake.

Since that night, I have roamed not in rage, but in hope.

I watch over the hungry. I drift beside those who are invisible like I once was. I wait—not for justice, but for those quiet moments of kindness. And every time someone stops, someone shares, someone sees… I feel a little lighter.

But my journey didn’t end there.

One evening, I returned to a place I had long avoided—the first house where I had begged. I remembered the door slamming in my face. The curse. The disgust in their eyes. Now, the house stood in ruin—windows shattered, walls broken. Inside, I saw an old man, frail and hollow, shivering in the cold. It was him. The man who once turned me away.

He was hungry now. Weak. And alone.

And I—still a ghost—could do nothing.

The roles had reversed. And for the first time, I didn’t feel hate. I felt… sorrow. For him. For myself. For the world that lets so many fall.

Maybe forgiveness could free us both.

I stood there for a long time, whispering into the silence:

“May someone feed you before it’s too late.”

And then I moved on—less angry, more human, though I no longer am one.

part 2 🥰😍

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