Little Ralph and the street dog

Once Ralph went on a walk close to bed time. He was actually staying at his uncle’s house located at the ancient town of Bigfort. As he went through streets that were new to him, a big, mighty dog came out of nowhere. Both dog and Ralph regarded each other for a moment. Then slowly he bent forward and patted its head. The dog started wagging its tail. It then stood on its hind legs and placed its forelegs on his chest. Little Ralph didn’t expect that sudden move and backed off immediately. That dog was aggressively friendly. But only later something told him that it was wrong to move away. That dog was seeking love. It needed love so badly and it thought that he could give it. But it’s sudden movement scared him and turned him away. It’s been six or seven years since that incident, and Ralph still regrets not reciprocating that dog’s love. All it needed was love and he wasn’t able to give it. Ralph loves dogs and he often looks at the faces of the various street dogs that he comes across; some need love, some are content, some don’t care anymore, some want to please the humans around it, some are scared, and some are aggressive leaders of their streets. It’s amazing how dogs in general are beings of pure love and can exhibit human-like emotions. They are capable of showing so much love and they love being loved.

 Sometimes, Ralph feels like that dog that he left behind in that dark street — a dog who seeks love, but doesn’t know how to show it, nor does it know how to handle the love that it receives. 

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On Existence

I stood there and watched as an old man struggle to walk under the hot sun. He was carrying a heavy basket on his head and he looked he might fall down any minute. He looked tired and hungry. And as I watched, he stumbled and went down heavily. The clay dolls he was carrying shattered into a million pieces. Blood oozed from his head as he lay there and twitched. He needed help. If only I could go there and give him some water from the bottle that I was carrying, his life could have been prolonged enough until help arrived. But I stood there motionless. After a few minutes of moaning and twitching, his life passed away. I continued my walk. 

Now please don’t judge me. You don’t know who I am. What if I am already dead? What if that it was me, the Divine Death (oh yes, death is divine) who came in the form of a pickpocket who robbed that old man’s breakfast money, that very morning, to make him tired and hungry so that I could dispose off his fragile shell easily later in the day? 

Or what if I am God? 

But no, I am none of the above. I am just a puppet. Just like you. And I was only being myself. Is that wrong? Aren’t we all puppets?