My name is Jeffrey atlas .
At least, I think it is.
I repeat it in my head like a prayer, afraid that if I stop, it will disappear. I was born in 2004. It's 2016 now. I'm twelve years old. These are facts-anchors I cling to so I don't drift away.
My father's name is Adrian. Hes the only person who will ever name me.
My mother, Maria, died in 2012.
After that, the house became quiet in the worst way. My father sank into himself, and I followed. Depression doesn't arrive loudly-it leaks into you, day by day, until breathing feels optional.
I wanted to die.
I tried.
I failed.
The last thing I remember clearly is deciding to take a shower. Hot water. Closed eyes. Then sleep.
When I woke up, the world had changed.
Two enormous figures hovered above me. A man. A woman. Or maybe they weren't huge-maybe I was small. I was wrapped in a blanket, my body light, unfamiliar.
The woman smiled softly.
"Would you look at him," she said. "He's our son."
The man leaned closer.
"I see it. He looks more like you than me."
Parents.
But not mine.
Panic clawed at my chest. I knew who I was. I knew my parents. I knew my life. This had to be a dream. I must have passed out in the shower.
Dreams end when you die.
So I waited.
Night came. I slipped out of the bed, crawling toward a tall window-but before I could reach it, someone lifted me up.
A maid.
She was well-dressed. The room behind her was enormous, glowing with wealth. Chandeliers. Silk curtains.
A rich family?
Royalty?
I was placed back into the bed. Trapped.
I hated it. I needed to wake up.
Eventually, I did what I always planned. I threw myself from the window.
And then-
I woke up again.
Another room. Smaller. Cracked walls. Another man and woman standing over me.
"Oh," the woman said, smiling weakly. "He's cute, isn't he, honey?"
The man's face twisted with rage.
"He looks nothing like me. You cheating bitch."
They started screaming. Plates shattered. The air felt heavy, violent, familiar.
This wasn't new for them.
They were poor. Exhausted. Broken.
A downgrade, I thought bitterly.
I told myself I'd wait until night again. End it. Wake up.
But something inside me hesitated.
What if... I didn't want to wake up?
What if I wanted to stay?
I had never had a mother and a father who stood in the same room before-even if they were toxic, even if they hated each other. Kids bring people together, don't they? Or at least... that's what I want to believe.
I don't care if I die in reality.
I just want to live once.
To feel warmth.
To belong.
To be loved-even imperfectly.
I don't want to return to a world where I live with a man who hates his own existence.
I want a life.
A real one.
So I close my eyes and accept it.
Let's see where this dream takes me.