If someone had asked me a week ago what I wanted for my eighteenth birthday, I probably would've said something simple—maybe a slice of cake, a cheap burger, or even just someone wishing me "happy birthday" without being legally obligated to. But life, being the chaotic comedian it is, decided to gift me something special: homelessness.
My name is Nathan. Nathan Black. And today, I officially ceased being a minor and immediately graduated into the world's most unwanted job—being an adult with no money, no family, no home, and no clue how the world works.
Most people celebrate turning eighteen. I've seen kids at school brag about the epic parties they were planning, the gifts they'd get, or the freedom they'd finally enjoy. Meanwhile, I got exactly one notification today:
"You're eighteen. Pack your things. You must vacate the orphanage by noon."
It's not even like I had much to pack. My "luggage"—a very generous term—consisted of two sets of clothes, a toothbrush with more bent bristles than straight ones, and a thin mattress donated years ago by someone who probably had no idea it would become my only possession after being kicked into adulthood.
I stood in the orphanage dormitory one last time, taking in the peeling paint, the rusted metal beds, and the familiar scent of overcooked rice lingering in the hallways. This place might've been horrible in many ways, but it was still the only place I had ever known.
I was four years old when someone left me at the church gate. They found me wrapped in a blanket with a small piece of paper tucked under my sweater. My name was scribbled on it in shaky handwriting—Nathan—as if whoever wrote it couldn't finish the sentence "I'm sorry."
When I found out about this at the age of eight, something inside me cracked. I stopped talking to people, stopped trying to make friends, and eventually became known as "that quiet kid who sits alone and reads old books." I didn't mind the label. It was easier to be alone than constantly hope someone might stay in my life.
I strapped my mattress with a piece of rope, slung my clothes over my shoulder, and walked out of the orphanage gates. No one stopped me. No one waved goodbye. No one asked where I would go.
A thrilling start to adulthood, truly.
---
Stepping onto the streets felt like walking into another world. I had seen glimpses of the city from the orphanage roof before, but being in the middle of it was different. Cars zoomed by like they were running late for a movie premiere. Tall glass buildings sparkled in the sun, reflecting the world like oversized mirrors. People rushed around, sipping coffee, talking on phones, looking busy—looking like they belonged here.
I didn't.
But I still felt a strange excitement bubbling inside me. Everything was new. Every sound, every color, every smell. It felt like I was finally allowed to see a world I had only read about in books.
I probably looked like a complete idiot staring up at skyscrapers with my mouth open, but I couldn't help it. For a moment, I forgot that I had nowhere to go.
And then the universe reminded me.
I bumped straight into a man—a big one. So big I bounced off him and fell onto my backside like a malfunctioning rubber ball. I blinked up at him and immediately regretted it.
Five men stood around me, each with matching tattoos on their necks—some sort of snake coiled around a dagger. Definitely not a boy scout group.
The man I bumped into stared at me with irritation, like I was a stain on his shirt.
"Watch where you're going, kid," he growled.
"Sorry," I muttered instantly. "I didn't see—"
He kicked me before I even finished. The breath left my lungs in a painful rush, and I curled around my stomach, gasping.
He crouched down, grabbed my collar, and slapped me hard enough that my ears rang. A warm drop of blood slid down the corner of my lips.
"I said I didn't mean—"
Another slap.
"Give me all your money."
"I… I don't have any," I said honestly. "I literally have zero."
The moment I said that, his eyes glowed—or maybe I imagined it—but they flashed a terrifying crimson as his anger sharpened.
"You think I'm stupid?"
"No! I just—"
He didn't let me finish. He and his friends began kicking and punching me relentlessly. I tried to protect my head, but the hits kept coming. My vision blurred. I tasted blood. My ribs felt like they were cracking.
I wanted to scream for help.
But no one stopped.
No one looked.
The world kept going.
And then the man grabbed my shirt, dragged me to the edge of the street, and threw me in front of a speeding truck.
There was a blinding light. A loud horn. A screech.
And then—
Nothing.
Just darkness.
---
He was young. Healthy. Handsome, even.
A boy who could've had a future full of first experiences—first job, first home, first love.
But fate is not always kind.
Sometimes, it doesn't even hesitate.
---
Cold.
That was the first thing I felt.
Not the physical kind—more like a cold that seeped into the soul, if I even had one left.
I opened my eyes slowly, though I wasn't sure what "eyes" meant anymore. There was no sky, no ground, no light. I floated in an endless, shapeless darkness that stretched forever. It didn't feel like a room. Or a dream.
It felt like nothing.
Panic tightened around my chest—or whatever part of me counted as a chest now.
Where… where am I?
Did I die?
Is this what death feels like?
Just… emptiness?
The memories slammed into me—the kicks, the punches, the truck.
No. No, no, no—this can't be it. I just turned eighteen. I haven't even tasted pizza that isn't from the orphanage kitchen. I haven't been on a date. I haven't even kissed anyone. I died a virgin? Seriously?
The universe truly had no mercy.
I tried to move, but I felt nothing. No arms, no legs. Just… awareness.
Am I a soul now? Is this reincarnation? Do I wait for a god? Is there paperwork involved? Should I queue somewhere?
My mind spiraled.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
"This has to be a dream," I whispered to myself, even though I wasn't sure I had a mouth anymore. "It can't end like this… right?"
Deep down, though, I knew it wasn't a dream.
This was real.
Too real.