[Raven's Perspective]
My childhood memories have always been hazy, blurry, unclear like a mirage that only gets further the closer I try to reach it. For some reason, I always believed that my father had sold me, that I never once tasted happiness. That I never knew warmth, nor what it meant to have a home or a family.
But ever since that fight in the warehouse, ever since I woke up from that coma, old memories came back. Memories entirely different from everything I had known or thought I knew about my childhood.
In those memories, I had everything I ever wished for in my miserable short life: a family, a warm home. But as always, even in those memories, happiness didn't last. My mother's strange illness, my father's deteriorating state, and then the debt collectors who took me. My life in that laboratory, those bizarre experiments.
When I look back on these memories, I see how vastly different they are from the ones I carry now. And that's what made me realize something was off. Maybe my memories themselves had been tampered with. And only one name came to mind: Valentine Crow. That bastard. There's no other logical explanation for my current state. Those warm memories don't align with the life I live today.
I tried to ignore it. Tried convincing myself that what I saw wasn't real, that it was nothing more than a fleeting hallucination. But every night, every time I shut my eyes, those memories returned to haunt me. And with them came the rage. Rage, resentment, and fury that boiled in my chest whenever I thought of Valentine.
I swear I'll make him pay for every moment of suffering I've endured.
***
[Jevan's Perspective]
People, when they dream, usually see strange things, terrifying nightmares, or illogical scenarios. Me? Unfortunately, my dreams decided to take a slightly different path.
For some reason, I always find myself in the same side alley. Same alley, same stench, and the same small child sitting there. A boy with brown hair and crimson eyes.
Inside the dream, I'm nothing but a ghost. No one sees me, no one hears me. At least I can move and watch, but I can't interfere.
Yet I'm completely aware. I know what I'm living isn't reality.
At first, it was interesting. But after several months of watching the same scene, I lost all sense of fascination.
I tried wandering off, but no matter how far I walked, I always ended up back at the same spot. So I sat beside him, silently watching as he gnawed on a stale piece of bread like it was the only thing he owned in this world which, sadly, it was.
After finishing, he wiped his hand on his tattered jacket, then slowly stood and walked toward the central square to beg for a few coins from hurried passersby who themselves looked worse off than he did.
"If you want to beg, little Jevan, you should at least beg from people who have some money, not from those poor souls."
I wished, just once, to see something useful. Anything that would help me understand how I ended up inside this body. Or who that lunatic was who "welcomed" me (in a very friendly way, might I add) the moment I arrived in this world. But all I got was more glimpses of this wretched child's life.
Over time, I became almost certain that this child was the original Jevan. How did I know? Simple. I've never met anyone else past or present with brown hair and crimson eyes but him.
I watched silently. When he sat in one of the square's corners, the cycle repeated again.
He reached out here, looked around hopelessly there. And when one pitiful passerby tossed him a single bronze coin, he clutched it tightly in fear of being robbed. I tried to sigh, but apparently, ghosts can't sigh.
I muttered sarcastically:
"If I'd known inhabiting this body came with a mandatory subscription to the live stream of a homeless kid's life, I would've reconsidered the deal."
But, as always, no one replied.
***
[Little Jevan's Perspective]
I opened my eyes to the same cracked ceiling, the same crumbling walls that looked ready to collapse any moment. Slowly, I raised my hand and held the pendant hanging from my neck. I stared at it for a moment before letting it go.
After a few moments of silence, I got up from my bed, brushed the dust off my clothes, then reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of stale bread I had saved from yesterday, even though my stomach screamed in hunger.
I left the shack I called home and walked toward the side alley. I sat on the cold pavement, as I did every morning, and started eating the bread slowly, without haste.
...
As I ate, something strange began happening. The fog that usually filled the alley started thickening in front of me, slowly taking the shape of a human figure.
His features were hazy, unclear, but his clothes? Somewhat visible. A long brown coat, a white shirt, and a brown vest.
This ghost had been lingering around me since I got this pendant. He didn't appear often vanishing for days, sometimes weeks, only to return again. At first, I was terrified of him.
I didn't understand who he was or what he wanted. But over time, the fear faded, replaced with a strange sense of anticipation.
His presence became part of my daily routine. His absence became what scared me. I don't know who he is, but he makes me feel like I'm not entirely alone even if he's just a ghost who never speaks.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His features were still unclear, but he seemed to look at me with an expression that carried sadness or pity or maybe both.
...
I headed toward the central square, about to beg as usual. I know, it's not honorable, but it's the only way I can earn some money.
To be precise, there are other ways, but all of them are worse.
I could work in one of the factories basically a slavery contract. For a kid like me? The hours are long, the pay isn't enough for even a crust of bread, and in the end, you might collapse and die from exhaustion, and no one would notice.
Or I could try stealing. But what is there to steal here? A torn shoe? A rotten piece of meat? No one owns anything worth stealing.
I arrived at the central square and sat on the ground, leaning my back against the cold wall.
Beside me, the ghost appeared suddenly, as always. He said nothing at first, then began mumbling in some language I couldn't understand.
I glanced at him sideways, but said nothing. I didn't show surprise or fear I just ignored him.
I leaned my head back against the wall and gazed up at the sky, barely visible between the crumbling buildings.
I stretched out my hand, hoping some passerby would show mercy and give me anything literally anything, even a piece of bread would've satisfied me.
Hours passed under the scorching sun, but unlike yesterday, I didn't manage to get a single coin. I exhaled, about to get up and leave
Then suddenly, a man approached me. Thick red hair, a light beard of the same color, wearing a wide hat that hid part of his face, and a long black coat.
He walked in silence without a word, pulled a coin from his pocket, and tossed it lightly toward me. I quickly caught it before it hit the ground.
I stared at it, expecting it to be just another bronze coin, but when I opened my palm, my face froze in shock.
I kept staring at the coin in disbelief, then quickly looked around for the man but he had already vanished.