The rain poured relentlessly that night, drenching the streets and casting a somber gloom over the city. In the middle of a quiet road, a small black cat lay motionless on the cold, wet asphalt. Her name was Midnight, and she had always been an independent spirit, darting through alleyways and hiding in the shadows. She wasn’t a pet, but a street cat who had learned to survive on her own, dodging cars, seeking shelter from storms, and relying on the scraps of food people left behind.
But tonight was different. Midnight had been struck by a speeding car as she crossed the road, her small body sent tumbling into the street. The driver had never slowed down, too focused on getting home, too unaware of the fragile life they had just taken. Midnight’s world had turned to a blur of pain and confusion, and now, she lay there, her limbs twisted in unnatural positions, her body unable to move.
She wanted to cry out, to call for help, but the pain in her chest was so intense that it felt like her voice had been stolen. She struggled to breathe, her body shaking as the cold asphalt seeped into her fur. Her once-glimmering green eyes, now clouded with agony, stared up at the dark sky. The rain kept falling, and the world around her continued as though nothing had happened. The distant hum of cars and the soft murmur of people talking inside their warm homes seemed so far away.
Midnight’s screams went unheard, lost in the noise of the city, swallowed by the cold night air. She felt her consciousness slipping, her tiny heart pounding in short, desperate beats. She was alone, abandoned by the very world she had fought so hard to survive in. Every inch of her body screamed for relief, for a sign that someone would come to help. But no one did.
As the minutes stretched on, Midnight’s vision blurred. Her mind began to drift, and for a brief moment, she remembered the days when she was healthy, darting between the narrow streets with ease, chasing after small rodents, basking in the sun. She remembered the soft murmur of a kind human who had once petted her head, a fleeting moment of kindness in her otherwise solitary life. She clung to those memories, but the pain became too much.
In the distance, a car slowed as it approached the road where Midnight lay. This time, the driver saw her—lying broken and helpless. A soft gasp escaped the driver’s lips, and the car came to a halt.
By the time they reached Midnight, it was too late. Her body was cold, and the last breath had already left her. The driver, heart heavy with guilt and sadness, scooped her up gently and placed her in a box lined with soft cloth. They whispered an apology to the little cat, the one who had suffered in silence on the cold, wet asphalt.
Midnight’s screams, unheard by the world, would now be a quiet echo in the hearts of those who had found her too late. And though she was gone, her story would never be forgotten.
