Flickering Flames of Despair

Blake stared into the flickering flames of the campfire, its warmth failing to reach his chilled bones. He couldn't help but ponder on the unfairness of the world. The fire crackled and spat like a living thing, its embers flying into the night sky, creating an eerie dance of light and shadow. 

''Who says smoking kills, it saves too'', he whispered.

"Life's a cruel joke, ain't it?" he muttered to himself, pulling his ragged clothes tighter around him. He thought of the countless people who had suffered at the hands of fate, himself included. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he could never catch a break. He shook his head, the bitter taste of injustice heavy on his tongue.

"Feels like I'm nothin' more than a stray dog," he whispered into the empty night, "left to fend for myself in this godforsaken land." His voice trembled with emotion, anger and sadness warring within him. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his calloused palms. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside.

"Survive and adapt, huh? That's all there is now." Blake sighed, his breath misting in the cold air. He recalled the countless times he'd been abandoned by those he thought he could trust, left to pick up the shattered pieces of his life alone. He felt like a discarded toy, tossed aside once its purpose had been fulfilled.

"Seems like everyone else has it easier. Why am I always the one left behind?" As he spoke, the weight of his isolation pressed down on him, each word leaving him more hollow than before. He looked around the dark forest, shadows looming over him like vultures waiting to feast on his despair.

"Maybe someday, I'll find my pack." His words were barely audible, a prayer whispered to the indifferent wind. But deep down, he knew that even stray dogs had a better chance of finding a home than he did.