Prologue

(1st person pov)

I wake up to the same faded walls, the echoes of distant dreams lingering in the air. My name's Jacob. Or at least that's what they call me at the orphanage. The days blend into a routine that's become my norm.

Mornings start with a cold splash of water, a quick bite of bland porridge, and the murmurs of kids like me, clinging to hope amidst the dreary corridors. The school, though my haven, doesn't come without its reminders. Whispers and sidelong glances—they're there, a constant reminder of my status. "The orphan kid." The label sticks like glue.

In classes, I'm just another face in the crowd. But I push through the lessons, hoping knowledge will be my ticket out of here someday. Yet, there's always a voice in my head, reminding me that scholarships and opportunities don't come easily for someone like me.

The afternoons? They're a blur of odd jobs. Anything to earn a few bucks—cleaning at the local shop, running errands, or sometimes just being someone's extra pair of hands. Each coin is a chance at a meal that doesn't taste like desperation or a page closer to escape.

Nights, though, are the hardest. The orphanage transforms into a cavern of silence. Empty beds surround me, each an echo of a lost childhood. Books are my sanctuary. Stories transport me to realms far away from the concrete reality that suffocates me. The distant laughter of families in the neighborhood stings, reminding me of a life I've never known.

(3rd person pov)

Jacob trudged wearily through the dimly lit streets, the weight of the day's challenges heavy on his shoulders. His steps echoed the rhythm of exhaustion, a symphony of weariness that seemed to resonate within him. The city's bustling chaos had drained him, leaving behind a hollow ache.

Entering the old orphanage, Jacob shed the burdens of the day with each heavy sigh. The world outside melted away as he reached for the frayed copy of 'Legacy of Shadows,' his sanctuary amidst the chaos. The book's familiar weight in his hands brought a faint glimmer of solace.

Fingers traced the worn spine, flipping through the pages that held an escape from reality's turmoil. With each sentence, a sense of calm began to permeate the room. The outside world ceased to exist as Jacob delved into the intricate tapestry of the novel.

The characters within the pages became his companions, their struggles and triumphs resonating with his own. Their quests for redemption, their battles against darkness, mirrored the tumultuous challenges he faced daily. The story was more than a mere distraction; it was a lifeline that tethered him to tranquility.

As the evening deepened, the room was illuminated solely by the soft glow of the lamp beside him. The world within 'Legacy of Shadows' unfolded before his eyes, painting vivid scenes of valor and sacrifice. For Jacob, it wasn't just a book—it was a refuge, a world where he could find solace amidst life's storms.

Within those pages, time flowed at his pace. Worries dissolved, and the weight on his shoulders lifted, replaced by the embrace of an enchanting narrative. The outside world's chaos faded into insignificance, drowned by the allure of the book's captivating realm.

With each turn of the page, a sense of peace settled upon Jacob. It was a respite he craved—a sanctuary where he could untangle the knots of stress that entwined his thoughts. The novel's words whispered serenity, offering him an oasis amid life's arid deserts.

As the night wore on, Jacob found himself lost in the story's depths, the outside world a distant memory. Hours passed, and yet, in the company of the book, time seemed suspended—a precious gift allowing him to bask in the tranquility he so desperately sought.

Finally, as the last page approached, a sense of contentment washed over Jacob. Though the challenges of the real world awaited him outside the covers, the book had rejuvenated his spirit. It had bestowed upon him a fleeting yet precious peace—a reminder that amidst life's turbulence, the refuge of a good story could anchor the soul. Closing the book, he drifted into a restful slumber, the echoes of the story lulling him into a peaceful night's sleep.

(1st person pov)

I wake to the familiar sound of the alarm clock, signaling the start of another day. After a quick breakfast at the orphanage, I head to school. The hallways buzz with chatter and anticipation, a world apart from my solitary nights.

Lessons blur into the afternoon, the routine familiar yet unremarkable. As the final bell rings, I hurry to my part-time job. The city's bustle envelopes me once more, a stark contrast to the quietude of the orphanage.

At the local store, I stack shelves and assist customers, each task a step towards independence. It's exhausting, but it's a chance to save for a future beyond these walls—a future I'm determined to shape on my terms.

After closing the door of the store, I started running to the bus stop but the luck didn't seem to be on my side today, after running for quite some time, I gave up the hopes of finding a bus as the last bus would have already left by now.

Walking for 15 minutes, I arrived at the central plaza.

Waiting for the signal, I checked the time. It was still 30 minutes before 7. I was about to take a step when a truck suddenly got out of the road hurtling towards me.

'Shit.' Cursing my luck, I started to run out of instinct, screaming about the truck coming towards here but too many people were blocking my way each running to save their own life. I tried to push through the crowd to avoid the truck but...

I tried to scream at the top of my lungs but right before I could utter a single word, my surroundings went dark. The last thing I saw, was the same truck crashing onto me, trampled others as well.

It is dark, very dark. Did I survive? A question I had no way to answer. But I don't feel any pain but, strangely calm it seems like I am dead. There is no way that I can survive that accident but amidst the calmness I feel weird it's like a relentless storm slowly raging inside me, an ache that gnaws at my core, a feeling that chokes every hopeful thought. I promised myself the world, dreams dancing like fireflies in my mind, but reality played a cruel hand, snuffing out those aspirations. I remember the faces of those who believed in me, who invested hope in my potential. I wanted to repay them, to show gratitude for their kindness, but I faltered. The weight of unfulfilled promises and debts unrepaid is suffocating me.

After a while my life as an orphan begain to play in front of me is it what happens after death? Again I have no answer to this question.

Life as an orphan—my story—started amidst uncertain echoes and fading memories. From the earliest recollections, the orphanage became my fortress, its walls holding not just us but the aspirations and shared experiences of those like me. Mornings began with a shared breakfast, the clatter of cutlery resonating in the barren halls. Days were a mosaic of schooling and chores, a routine that anchored me amidst the storm of uncertainty.

The absence of parental guidance birthed a silent resilience within me, a resilience that stood as a beacon amidst the solitude. Nights, though quiet, bore witness to my dreams, dreams that soared beyond the institutional confines. The walls of my room held the whispers of ambitions, silent yearnings for a life beyond the orphanage's threshold.

Adolescence beckoned, accompanied by the discovery of talents and desires. Amidst the labyrinth of teenage emotions, the orphanage's routines became both sanctuary and limitation. Yet, within those walls, I discovered solace in the refuge of books, each page a portal to worlds far removed from my own.

Teenage years unfurled, marked by the dichotomy of longing for familial ties and the hunger for a future unshackled from the past. The corridors echoed with shared aspirations, quiet hopes intertwined with the silent struggles we bore individually.

Each day was a quest—a quest to shape a future defined not by circumstances but by resilience. It was a journey where the absence of parental guidance forged an independence, where camaraderie among fellow orphans became the pillars of support, and where the silent dreams I nurtured illuminated the path toward a destiny I yearned to craft on my terms.

But, all of it, all the pain, struggles and hardwork was for nothing. It's as if I was born to face all the challenge and pain with little to no happiness in my life. "Hardwork pays off" a thought that was the backbone of my life and the reason I endured everything and for what? Only to use my life to prove that this though means nothing?

'hah, I hate my life'.

This was the last thought before my conciseness started fading.