Search of identity

Is was a dark and gloomy night, where nothing could be heard except the whistling wind from the windows echoing names—there I was. I saw them, but they never saw me. Loneliness showed no mercy when I heard them, but they never heard me. The feeling of someone calling my name and the brief, intense joy before realizing it wasn’t real—there I was, in the dark, cold night. The night had always felt like a second skin to me, wrapping around my existence like a cloak. There was a strange comfort in the silence, in the way the darkness embraced everything equally. And yet, the deeper the night became, the more I longed for something I could no longer name.

The boy had no memory of his mother, other than that she had abandoned him as a child. At the orphanage, the staff looked troubled when he asked about her and replied that she was a broken young woman who lacked the ability to take care of him. She had become pregnant too young, and there was no father willing to be involved. He always assumed the reason could have been a lack of money or something involving drugs. At the same time, he felt anger and disappointment. He couldn’t understand how anyone could abandon their child. He would have done anything to have a normal family, a warm home, a place where he belonged. The lack of answers gnawed at him, fueling a quiet rage that simmered beneath his skin, a longing that no amount of stolen moments could fill.

At the orphanage, the days were always the same. The routines were clear: breakfast at seven, cleaning with assigned tasks, school, dinner at six, and then all the children were locked in their rooms until morning. When the boy spoke, the others looked away and pretended not to hear him. When the other children played, there was always a maximum number, and he was always one too many. He didn’t know what he had done to be excluded. He had a lot of energy, and maybe he disturbed them. Eventually, he became disruptive. He remembered a fight where he threw a glass onto the floor. After that, he had to spend a week alone in his room, eating his meals there. The other children sometimes got ice cream for dessert, but after that incident, he never got ice cream again. He thought it was unfair, and once he stole another child's ice cream. The child ran to the staff, who yanked the ice cream from his hand. They threw him out of the orphanage with the words that they couldn’t have a troublemaker who stole and started conflicts.

It was cold and raining outside. He was angry and frustrated. Eventually, he found a hidden spot in an alley and a cardboard box to sleep on. That was where his struggle to survive began, leading to an escapade of thefts and robberies. He eventually became skilled at stealing, but sometimes people recognized him, and then he had to be quick and invisible. At first, he stole newspapers to sell, but when the newspaper vendor became more vigilant, he switched to stealing wallets and briefcases. He realized that drunk people were easier to steal from and stayed around bars between ten at night and five in the morning. He learned how to blend in with the shadows, how to move without making a sound. But despite his growing skill, there was always an underlying fear—a knowledge that one wrong move could mean the end of everything.

One day, a man grabbed him, but he managed to break free and ran away. The shadows in the night seemed to grow darker, and he started imagining he was being followed. He wasn’t sure when the feeling had begun, but it never left him. The sensation of eyes on him, of something lurking just beyond his field of vision. A presence that wasn’t quite there but refused to be ignored. One night, as he sat going through the day’s loot, a man suddenly stood before him. He wore a large black hat and a beautiful suit made of the finest fabric. He was unusually tall, must have been just over two meters. His presence was overwhelming, an unnatural stillness surrounding him.

The man asked the boy what he wanted help with. The boy replied that he wanted to disappear. He was tired of living like a street rat, day after day. The man said he could help him, but on one condition. He explained that the boy would get everything he had ever wished for. Hundreds of friends or a quiet hermit life. Money or security. Whatever he wanted, the man could arrange.

The boy followed the man. "What do you think of the night?" the man asked. The boy replied that he preferred the night since people sometimes threw things at him and tried to rob him when he slept in his alley. "Do you feel like taking revenge on them?" the man asked. The boy answered yes. There was no hesitation. The idea of being able to strike back, to turn the tables, was intoxicating.

The man took off his hat and handed it to the boy. "Do you accept the conditions?" he asked. The boy hesitated but answered yes. He really had no choice. "Now then," said the man. "You will get everything you have ever wished for. But on the day you turn 30, life will drain from you. In return for all you have received, you will spend the rest of your existence as I do. You will be invisible. You will stand in the corner of the room and watch them sleep. You will wish to feel something. You will wish to be a part of it. They will not see you. Except for certain lost souls. And those are the ones you must convince if you ever want to be free."

The boy thought the man was joking. But the next day, everything was different. He found a wallet with a fortune, met the love of his life, got married, and had five children. On his thirtieth birthday, he was celebrated with a big cake. The next day, when he woke up, he felt gray and empty. As if life was slipping away from him. He looked at himself in the mirror and thought he looked different. His eyes seemed a little darker, and they looked empty.

Two days later, his wife called the police. "My husband is missing!" she cried. That night, the man stood in the corner of the room, unseen. His wife cried in her sleep. He adjusted his hat and slowly dragged his cane across the floor as he walked toward the children’s room. Standing there, looking at his children, he thought about the man and the promise he once made. Loneliness showed no mercy to the nameless, in search of a new identity. He wished he could feel something, anything, but all he had left was the cold embrace of the night. And so, he waited, hoping that one day, one lost soul would see him, would listen, and maybe, just maybe, set him free.