As the World Change

Chapter 1 - In the Cold Night

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depictions of physical abuse, bullying, and suicidal thoughts that may be distressing for some readers. Please proceed with caution.

Note: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real events or people is purely coincidental.

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In the Cold Night 
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Keyos staggered, breath shallow and ragged, every inhale burning like fire in his lungs, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, a metallic tang that mingled with the bitter taste of his own fear. His fever had climbed high enough to blur his vision, and each step forward felt like he was wading through thick fog. His body was shaking—whether from the fever or the overwhelming nausea, he didn't know. Just a little further... He repeated the thought in his head like a mantra, clinging to it, the same way he clung to every step. But each time his foot hit the cracked pavement, it seemed more and more likely he wouldn't make it.

His boss at the construction site had given him a few bills, a loan for medicine, something to ease the fever. He'd begged for it, swallowing what little pride he had left. It wasn't much, but it was enough to give him a slim hope of relief.

Until he collided with someone.

Keyos blinked, stumbling back as his shoulder hit something solid. Through his haze, he saw the figure. He hadn't noticed the thug standing there, his face a mask of cruelty, his eyes glinting with malice, or the way his friends circled him, their laughter echoing like a threat, their bodies a wall of muscle and menace. But, Keyos didn't need to know what they wanted. It was always the same.

"Look what we have here," the thug growled, stepping closer. "Walking around with money, huh? Hand it over."

Keyos tried to breathe, but the coughs ripped through him like shards of glass, cutting his airways raw. His body convulsed with every ragged breath, and he tasted blood. His legs trembled, the cold pavement pressing against his skin, as nausea twisted his stomach into tight knots. But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the hollow ache in his chest.

He didn't even try to resist. What was the point?

It's always like this...

The first punch landed, sharp and direct, knocking him to his knees. The world spun as he fell, unable to catch himself. Another punch landed on his side, and pain radiated through his ribs. The sound of laughter echoed around him, but it felt distant, as if coming from somewhere else.

In the blur of agony, Keyos's mind began to drift.

He remembered the day they found him—just a nameless baby, barely a year old, left on the cold stone steps of a church. The nuns had called him Keyos Zajarillo; it was the name written on the card left with him. But that name was all he had been given. He grew up in the orphanage, a fragile creature in a world of giants, his body constantly marked by bruises from cruel hands. By the time he was four, he’d already learned to endure pain, to hide his fear, to become invisible.  He was a survivor, but the scars of his past ran deep, a constant reminder of the world's harshness.

It's no surprise if I die like this...

The thug's foot slammed into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. Keyos curled in on himself trying to protect what little he had left. His thoughts were everywhere—scattered, broken, just like his body.

He remembered sneaking out of the orphanage when he was only a boy, desperate to escape the torment. He's hidden in the back of a stranger's pickup truck, tucked between crates of fruit. That was the first kindness he'd ever known. The bananas were sweet, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he ate until he was full. He had cried that day, the taste so unfamiliar, so overwhelming, that his sobs had shaken his small body. It was the only warmth he had felt in years.

But even that memory slipped away as the next blow landed, and the pain brought him back to the present.

His life had been like this for as long as he could remember—moving from one hardship to another, surviving but never truly living. He had grown up on the streets, begging, wiping windshields, and cleaning shoes. Anything to get by. When he was old enough, he'd managed to scrape through school, a scholarship keeping him afloat. Even when people scoffed at him, looked down on him, he didn't care. He'd learned how to be invisible, how to endure.

But as time went on, the weight became too much. Every beating, every mocking laugh, every theft took another piece of him. He had fought to hold on, fought to believe that maybe tomorrow would be different. But eventually, that hope had dried up. By the time he finished high school, he wasn't living anymore—just moving forward out of habit, with no real will left.

And now, here he was again. Beaten, broken, and barely breathing.

The thug grabbed the few bills Keyos had and sneered as he pocketed them. The group began to walk away, leaving him crumpled on the street, coughing and wheezing in the cold night air. He could feel his body shutting down, the virus tearing through him, fever burning so hot that he could barely think.

Is this it?

His body trembled, cold sweat mixing with the blood on his skin. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He had stopped fearing that a long time ago. But in the smallest, deepest part of him, there was still that voice—small, faint, but there.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

He wasn't sure he believed it anymore. But it was all he had left. As darkness closed in, a strange, unsettling feeling washed over him. He felt a pull, a whisper from somewhere beyond, a promise of something different, something new. He knew he was dying, but for the first time in a long time, he felt a flicker of hope, a spark of defiance against the darkness that threatened to consume him. He clung to it, a fragile ember in the face of the cold, unforgiving night.

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I made a few minor changes. Thank you for reading! I hope it was an enjoyable experience, as that’s what I was aiming for. Any support would be greatly appreciated—whether it’s through reads, votes, comments, or kind feedback. Thank you!

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©Mari
@Lazyscorpii