Fated to die

I was in the backseat of my father's car surrounded by my birthday gifts. I had turned seven today.

We were returning from the grand party hosted to celebrate the unique occasion of my birth.

Friends and relatives had congratulated me for this pseudo achievement in which I had played no part.

I just sat there smiling smugly ear to ear, basking in the affection my parents had showered me with today, and every other day.

Fate had given me this life.

Soaked to my bones in sheer joy, I finally rolled down the window to take a break from my gloating.

And I looked out.

He wore purple, and shades of red, and a tinge of desolation.

His teeth were sooted in black, but a speck of enamel shone through bright and twinkly.

That twinkle had been stolen from his eye, and would have sparkled with hope in a parallel reality.

Instead, that sparkle now gleamed through a prism of a teardrop resting on the precipice of his high cheekbone.

The tear moved down ever so slightly, and nestled cosily into the hollow dimple which a wide smile would have accentuated.

The dimple could still be discerned, but it was shrouded by the scars given by an abusive father and a despotic fate.

Fate had given him this life.

He just stood there on the road, stuck in an endless stream of cars snaking around him, looking lost in the city lights, hands outstretched to beg for alms as he had been instructed.

The boy did not even know that today was his seventh birthday.

Yes, fate had given him this Life... and this Death.