The Orphanage

Chapter 1

My name is Kiva Moraku, and I am twenty-three years old. I am an orphan, with no parents and no job. 

Who would hire someone like me? Yes, I'm smart, but I'm not handsome, and I don't have any influential connections. I realize that connections are the key to getting hired these days; companies don't care how smart you are unless you know someone on the inside or at least someone who knows someone there who can open a door for you.

But none of that matters. Passersby may see me as just a dumb bum, but they don't know my story. Perhaps because of my twisted childhood and its dark shadows, specifically the horrific accident that brought me to my adoptive parents, and then my time in juvenile detention, I learned a lot about this world and its cruelty.

Those experiences shaped me in a way that many people don't understand. They taught me how to notice the smallest details, how to read between the lines, and how to deal with all kinds of people. These skills, even if they don't look good on a resume, are more valuable than any college degree when it comes to facing real-life challenges.

When I got out of juvenile detention, I was a young man, supposed to be full of hope and life.

The world was waiting for me with bright promises, but all I could think about was imitating my favorite TV hero, Lucas Hood. The first thing I did was look for a woman, and well, you know exactly what happens in those moments of passion and overwhelming desire. 

After those moments of passion, I found myself lost in the crowded streets of the city, my stomach growling with hunger after long nights of disgusting prison food.

I decided to treat myself a little, to experience the taste of true freedom that I hadn't tasted in a long time. My feet carried me to a fancy restaurant, the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air, and through the shiny glass, I saw luxurious dishes being served on polished wooden tables. I entered with false confidence, sat down at a small table in the corner, and pulled the menu with my slightly trembling hand.

I imagined the taste of the marinated steak and a piece of chocolate cake.

I ordered a fancy dish, ignoring the price, which I hadn't read.

Minutes passed, and when I saw the waiter approaching me, my heart began to beat faster.

He came to me with a frown, whispering in a sharp tone:

"Sir, can you pay for this order?"

I felt ashamed.

I noticed some faces turning toward me from other tables, and faint whispers began to spread.

I hadn't tasted anything yet, not even a drop of water, but I felt as if all the eyes in the restaurant were focused on me, revealing my poverty and despair.

The waiter stood in front of me, waving his hand toward the door: 

"Please, leave now. We can't serve you."

I had no choice but to get up and leave, leaving my food behind with a feeling of helplessness and humiliation. That was the first time I had been kicked out of a place just because I couldn't afford to pay for my food, and it was the beginning of my realization that freedom outside prison is not always what one imagines it to be.

...

...

Two whole years have passed since I got out of prison, two years I spent trying to gather the pieces of my lost soul, but fate refused to let me escape the clutches of the abyss. I was running frantically down an empty street, my heart pounding like a war drum, after I reached out to snatch a bulky handbag from an old woman whose wrinkled face was now contorted with a mixture of surprise and horror after I stole from her.

The old woman let out a piercing scream that broke the silence of the street, gasping as if her soul had been ripped from her body:

"Thief! Catch the thief!"

I tried to get up and run away, stumbling over my feet, and she raised her hands in the air as if begging for help from those around her, but her frail body betrayed her, and she fell to the ground, her cries turning into muffled moans.

Her thick glasses broke on the sidewalk, and her cloak was stained with dirty water from a small hole next to the sidewalk.

Passersby gathered around her in an instant, their faces burning with anger, their voices rising. 

I heard their footsteps quicken behind me, like a pack of wolves thirsty for revenge.

A small child holding his mother's hand let go and ran after me, shouting innocently:

"Stop the thief! Stop him!"

Before his mother pulled him back anxiously.

Two muscular men sitting in a nearby café jumped up quickly, knocking over tables as they ran after me with determination.

I felt their hot breath approaching, and their shouting made me even more determined to escape.

I doubled my speed, ignoring the pain in my legs from exhaustion.

I realized then that this was not just a passing robbery, but a defining moment that could determine my fate. I saw nothing in front of me but escape, escape from a past that was haunting me and a present that was suffocating me.

I stepped over an overturned garbage container that almost knocked me down, and jumped over a broken wooden plank, barely maintaining my balance.

I heard the sound of police sirens approaching from afar, mingling with the footsteps of my pursuers and the old man's screams, creating a symphony of chaos in my ears.

I thought I had escaped, that I had triumphed over my miserable fate, but destiny, the same destiny that had destroyed my life time and time again, had one last surprise in store for me.

Suddenly, without warning, a huge truck appeared out of nowhere, like a black monster coming from the depths of the abyss to finish off what was left of me. The driver was screaming and honking the horn hysterically, trying to avoid a collision, but it was too late. There was no time to think, no time to run. 

Boom!

I was hit with a force I had never felt before, a force that crushed everything inside me. The bag fell from my hand and landed beside me on the asphalt as if witnessing my tragic end.

All I saw after that was total darkness, and for a moment I thought I was finally crossing over to the other side, where there was no pain or despair, but...

Yes, just as you might expect, the same old nonsense.

Someone appeared out of nowhere and called himself a "savior" or something equally ridiculous. He offered me a chance to live again in another world full of magic and great powers... blah, blah, blah.

But you know what? I rejected his ridiculous offer. All I wanted was to die.

The truth is, I had tried to kill myself several times before that incident, but every time something happened to stop me. I had no desire to explore a new world or gain great powers; all I wanted was to be freed from this bitter reality and put an end to the pain that had accompanied me throughout my life. The offer of a "helper of salvation" was nothing more than an extension of the despair I had been living in, a false promise of a life I no longer believed was possible for me.

...

Let's go back a little to explain what happened to me earlier in the orphanage.

...

At the age of nine, after I had had enough of the miserable orphanage where I spent the worst days of my life, I decided to put an end to my suffering.

I sneaked out at night, taking advantage of the guards' negligence, and headed for the bridge.

I stood on it, looking at the river below, as if it were stretching out its arms to welcome me. 

I was about to jump into the river, intoxicated by the idea of getting rid of this body burdened with worries, when a stranger passed by the bridge at a crucial moment.

His strong hand reached out and grabbed me before I could throw myself off, pulling me back from death and returning me to the prison of life once again.

My despair was not born at that moment but was the result of years of harsh treatment and injustice that permeated every corner of that place.

Every morning began with the screams of the grim-faced supervisor, who showered us with insults and rebukes for the slightest reason as if we were worthless creatures. The meals were meager and cold, not enough to satisfy our hunger, but only to increase the bitterness in our throats. As for the beatings, they were an integral part of our daily routine: a slap on my thin face or a kick to my emaciated body, and beatings with thin sticks on our small hands, just for not doing a simple task or complaining.

The blue bruises that adorned our bodies were the only mark we shared, and the tears we shed at night were our only language.

There was no warm embrace, no kind word, only cruelty evident in every glance and movement. But what is most etched in my memory, and what ignited my unbridled desire to die, was the incident involving the child Samikan. Samikan was a boy two years younger than me, thin and pale, who never stopped smiling despite everything. 

One day, the guards found him trying to sneak a small piece of bread to a hungry cat loitering near the fence. They beat him, not in secret, but in front of all of us.

The slaps and kicks only stopped when Samikan fell unconscious, his nose bleeding profusely. They carried him away, and we never saw him again. We were told that he had been transferred to another orphanage, but I heard that he died from the severity of the beating.

At that moment, I felt as if my last hope had been taken away from me. I realized that the only escape from here was death. The only salvation from this merciless hell.

...

Only a year had passed, and at the age of ten, despair took hold of me once again. I realized that escaping this hell was impossible, so the only solution left was death. I planned to commit suicide again, this time in a quicker and more decisive manner. I climbed with difficulty to the second floor of the orphanage, hoping that the end would be quick and decisive, without pain or hesitation. I threw myself out of the window, hoping that my small body would break on the hard ground below, ending my suffering forever, but I only broke my thin legs and my right arm, and I did not die.

I found myself lying in bed, pain filling my emaciated body, while death receded from me every time I tried to approach it.

...

After this failed attempt, the orphanage guards continued to watch me around the clock as if I were a dangerous criminal who needed to be restrained.

Their eyes followed me around every corner, and their hot breath clung to me like a shadow.

They were doing this because of a stern warning from the orphanage's financier, a man of great influence and sharp insight. I remember his warning that day well, despite my young age. It struck me like a thunderbolt:

"If any child dies, I will throw every one of you out onto the street!"

And so, I couldn't do anything, neither escape from this prison that had turned into a coffin, nor even commit suicide by holding my breath, for they were watching even my breathing.

I tried to refrain from eating the bitter food they gave me, but they forced me to eat it, opening my mouth by force and pushing the food into it as if they were determined to keep me alive for as long as possible.

All roads led to failure, and all my attempts to end this hell ended in disappointment. It was like being dead while still alive, breathing the air of misery and watching the sun rise and set without a glimmer of hope.

…

A few months passed and the harsh winter arrived with its bitter cold, and the guards began to grow bored with the strict routine of watching me.

The strictness of the surveillance eased a little, which I saw as a last glimmer of hope for salvation from this hell.

One cold day, as strong winds blew against the windows of the orphanage, I cautiously sneaked into the dark kitchen, where the smell of mold mixed with the stench of rotten food.

I searched for what I wanted with eager eyes until I found a sharp knife. I grabbed it with my trembling hands, imagining that the end was finally near.

But my constant bad luck, which followed me like a shadow, caught up with me at the last moment.

His face was filled with rage as if I had committed an unforgivable crime. He didn't say a word, but his gaze was enough to silence any hope inside me.

The next morning, the negligent guards who had been lax in watching me were fired and thrown out into the cold street without mercy.

The owner of the orphanage was not satisfied with that but punished the maids violently.

The new guards arrived, even bigger and with faces full of anger and mercilessness. They were like human walls, their eyes following my every move, every breath.

And so I spent my life continuing to live without any purpose, just a shadow moving through the dark corridors of the orphanage, waiting for an end that never came.

...

When I finally reached the age of eleven, late in the eleventh month to be precise, I managed to escape from the orphanage.

I sneaked out under the cover of darkness, every cell in my body trembling with longing for freedom, or death. I returned to the same bridge from the past, the place that had witnessed my first desperate attempts at salvation. It was three in the morning, and the place was quiet except for the sound of the wind. I made sure no one was watching me, then jumped into the cold river.

After a few minutes, I found it extremely difficult to breathe, and my eyes began to blur and gradually lose vision. I thought it was the end, but alas, I had not tied a stone or anything heavy to my feet, and my emaciated body floated on the surface of the water until another stranger found me.

Maybe it was fate or destiny, I don't know, maybe it was just bad luck or something.

It turned out that the person who saved me was the former guard who had been fired by the owner of the orphanage a year ago! Even I didn't know that the stranger was the guard until many years later because on the day he saved me from the river and saw my face after pulling me out of the water, he left me lying on the muddy riverbank and left without a word. What a terrible guard!

Fortunately, for the first time in my miserable life, luck smiled on me a little.

After the guard saved me, I woke up shortly afterward and no one from the orphanage or any passers-by saw me. I felt like I had been reborn, or perhaps given another chance. So I ran as fast as I could, as if my life depended on it, and left the orphanage behind me, never looking back. After that, I decided to live for a while to see if luck would continue to smile on me, or if this was just a respite.