Hi, my name is Atlas Orion, I'm 23 years old.
I'm not one to stand out much, but if you need to know something, I can start with the basics. I'm of average height, with a slim body.
My face...
well, it's simple, oval-shaped, and the expression on it is almost always tired.
Life hasn't been easy, and the routine of surviving, of making things happen, tends to leave a mark. My eyes are dark brown, but they don't always reveal what I'm thinking. Maybe that's why, many times, people see a suspicious look in me. I keep to myself, and when I notice that people are watching me or expecting something from me, it becomes hard to hide.
I have black hair, cut in a simple way, without much concern for appearance. My skin, of medium tone, carries the signs of difficult days — especially the marks of tiredness under my eyes, which come from sleepless nights and constant stress.
Ah, yes, I like games.
A way to escape reality, to enter a world where the rules are clear, and more importantly, where I can have control. In strategy games or RPGs, I can be someone different, someone who evolves, who masters challenges, something that, in real life, seems harder to achieve.
Maybe I seek this more than I realize... control, mastery, and maybe a little peace, which is hard to find in a world like ours.
Well, if I were to summarize my routine, I think I would say it's... tiring.
I wake up early, around 5:30 in the morning. My body asks for a few more hours of sleep, but I don't have time for that. Breakfast is quick, almost always the same — something simple, so I don't waste too much time. Then, I leave the house and head to the market where I work. The good thing is that the market is close to where I live, so the walk gives me some time to mentally prepare for what's ahead.
The work at the market starts early.
I organize shelves, stock products, and spend the whole day dealing with the hustle. In the beginning, everything is calm, but it doesn't take long for chaos to start. Customers come in, and things start to get... heavy. They seem to forget that we are here to help them, as if the world revolves around them. Most are arrogant, rude, and completely irrational.
Damn Karen's and Kevin's!
I've lost count of how many times someone has asked me to get something that was two meters away, as if it were my responsibility to cater to their whims, and not the work I have to do.
A bunch of idiots.
And, of course, when the line starts to grow, their patience runs out, as if it's my fault for not serving everyone at once. I've had to deal with so many stupid complaints that, honestly, sometimes I wonder if people even realize we are all in the same boat.
And then, when I finally finish my shift at the market, I breathe a sigh of relief. Not because of the work itself, but simply because I no longer have to deal with anyone at that moment. There's something comforting in knowing that, at least for a few hours, I don't need to interact with anyone. I try to relax a bit, and the best way I've found to do that is to lose myself in games. RPGs and strategy games are the ones that attract me the most, they are worlds where the rules are clear, and where I can finally have some control. They are my little escapes.
Dealing with people is hard.
But there is one thing I always do, something that keeps me grounded. Almost every week, I visit the children at the Aurora Orphanage. I really care about them. I know it's the only place where I feel a little more... whole. When I get there, the children always greet me with that genuine smile, no complications, no expectations of more than I can give. They don't ask anything of me, and it's the only place where I can be myself, without having to worry about the rest of the world.
The Aurora Orphanage has a special place in my heart. The children there are my motivation, the reason I keep going. When I'm with them, I can relax a little, even if for a short time. It's like, for a moment, the weight of everything that happens at the market, at my job, disappears. I'm not just Atlas who works at the market, I'm someone who is there to give some hope, some peace to those children.
In the end, my routine is always the same. Work, games, and a visit to the orphanage. It's not an exciting life, nor full of big moments, but it's what I have. Sometimes I wonder if this cycle will always be like this. Day after day, trying to deal with the world in a rational way, while chaos continues around me. But, in the end, I hold on to what I can – the small gestures from the children and the moments when I can lose myself in something that, at least in games, I can control.
The Aurora Orphanage was never an ordinary place.
I don't know exactly what keeps me here, but somehow, I've always been connected to it. Maybe it's the smile of the children, or the sense of peace I feel when I'm taking care of them. They are simple, sincere, and their world is more... light. The orphanage, with its worn walls, old furniture, and the smell of dusty books, has something peculiar. Sometimes, it felt like time stopped there, as if nothing else beyond that place and those children mattered. I never needed big ambitions or goals. The world around me always seemed gray and chaotic, and, in many moments, irrelevant.
But the children... they make the world seem a little less dark, and that's what keeps me going.
I've always been cold with adults, with the people around me. I'm not the type to get attached. Interactions were always superficial to me, empty words, nothing worth holding onto. Romantic relationships, then, are a waste of time. I learned that too early. I've seen what people really are, and I don't let myself be fooled by promises. But the children... they're different. With them, I feel... different. I treat them with genuine care, I always try to seem excited and happy, even if, inside, everything feels so distant. When I'm with them, I can give what's left of my goodwill. They are what keeps me here, what prevents me from falling apart.
However, even with all this care I try to give them, there's something in me that's sinking.
I don't believe in dreams, nor in hopes. The world seems to be falling apart, and I... I don't see any meaning in all of this.
I live in a constant cycle of simple tasks: work, play, visit the children. I give myself to what needs to be done, but my mind... my mind is always distant, looking at an empty horizon, where nothing seems to really matter.
The city out there?
It reflects exactly what I feel inside. The year is 2012, and everyone is talking about the end of the world, theories and apocalypses on every corner. Some believe that something grand is going to happen, but for me, the end of the world isn't about mass destruction or disasters.
The end of the world is much simpler... it's the collapse of humanity, one step at a time.
Each lie, each selfish act, each disappointment. All of this makes me believe that the real apocalypse isn't a grand and flashy event, but something that happens slowly, until everything is lost all at once.
And, honestly, I don't know if I'll ever be able to escape this.
When I get there, I find Sister Maria, always attentive to the administrative details of the orphanage. She's responsible for everything, and, even with her serene demeanor, I can see the worry in her eyes when she talks about the leaks. The conversation is brief, but we know there's a lot of work to be done.
Lívia Oliveira, the staff member responsible for cleaning, is always hands-on. She's attentive, always keeping an eye on everything happening around the orphanage and making sure nothing goes unnoticed. Her kind heart makes everyone at the orphanage feel cared for, even the children. Lívia is always running around, trying to help in any way she can to ease the load for others.
Sofia Costa, who has a close connection with me. She has always been more than just a simple friend. Our relationship has become natural, and, even though she doesn't say much, I know she shares the same understanding about the struggles we face. The relationship between us is silent, but very close.
Larissa Souza, one of the helpers who takes such great care of the children, with a smile on her face, calming the children who, if they're a bit more agitated due to their fears and traumas, soon settle down. She means a lot to me. It's hard not to feel something more for her. Larissa brings a sense of security to the children, and, in a way, she's also someone I turn to when things get hard to handle.
Today, after noticing the weather turning rainy, I head toward the orphanage. I'm not the hero, nor the savior. I'm just another one there to help with whatever is needed, trying to do my part. The Aurora Orphanage, with all its flaws and limitations, is a refuge. But it's also a place where small acts of kindness and mutual care are what keep everything running.
When I arrive, the door opens almost immediately. Lucia, the staff member responsible for cleaning, is the one who greets me. She's always attentive, always knows what's happening in every corner of the orphanage. Her gaze, always worried, gives me the feeling that she has everything under control, but I know that with the rainy weather and the old building structure, it's not enough to hold up.
"Good afternoon, Atlas. Ready for another round against the leaks?" She pointed up with a slight worried expression.
We knew well the drama of the storms.
"Yeah... it looks like we'll need more than last time," I replied, grabbing a box with makeshift repair tools.
We headed up to the attic to check the roof, where the first buckets were strategically placed to catch the leaks. The wood creaked under our feet, each step reminding us that the beams were far from being in their best condition.
Between us, a focused silence, broken only by the sound of water dripping. As we placed tarps to cover the most damaged areas, the rain took a brief pause. It was a short window of time, but enough to get some work done and prevent further damage.
The break didn't last long. A few minutes later, as we secured the last tarp, the sound of light footsteps caught my attention. A curious head appeared at the entrance of the attic.
"Need help up there, Atlas?" Lucia, eleven years old, looked at us with a confident smile, as if she had already planned how she'd be useful.
I leaned back for a moment, laughing at the scene.
"I'm not sure if up here is the safest place for you," I said, adjusting the tarp.
"But if you want, you can keep an eye on things downstairs and let us know if there are more leaks."
She gave a thumbs-up and disappeared down the stairs, running excitedly. I listened to the sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway, and Lívia looked at me with a smile in the corner of her mouth.
"That girl has energy to spare," she commented, wiping her forehead.
"True," I agreed.
As I watched the sky close in again. If the rain returned at that pace, nothing we did on the roof would hold.
Once we came down, the drizzle started again, and the children, led by little Lucia, were already in position. She was running from one side to the other, helping to place buckets where the water threatened to drip.
"Looks like we've got some time before the rain comes back for good," she said, throwing a confident glance at me.
"And while it's not here, I can help here."
I didn't argue. Sometimes, she seemed to care for the orphanage more than any of us combined. I watched her move from one part to another, adjusting whatever was necessary. Each time a new leak appeared, Lucia would alert us, and either I or Lívia would follow her to try to contain it.
The rain, which had initially seemed strong, began to intensify, and soon the sound of the drops echoed louder against the walls of the orphanage. With our work well-coordinated, we managed to keep enough buckets in place to prevent the place from flooding. I knew none of this was permanent, but seeing little Lucia so enthusiastic made any burden feel lighter.
"See, Atlas? This will be the last storm to catch the roof off guard," she said, placing another bucket on the floor.
Her expression was one of absolute certainty, as if she truly believed we were close to solving all the orphanage's problems once and for all.
"Maybe," I said, trying not to discourage her.
As the sound of the water spread across the roof, I noticed the children remained busy with their own tasks, not letting the rain dampen their spirits. With each new leak, they laughed and quickly moved to adjust the buckets. They seemed to see it all as a game — a way to face the difficulties of the place without getting discouraged.
With the end of the day approaching and the rain starting to calm down, I went up to the attic one last time to check the situation. The tarps were still intact, and at least for now, the roof would hold until the next storm. As I descended, I encountered little Lucia, still wearing that smile on her face.
"Is everything safe up there?" she asked, never taking her eyes off me, full of anticipation.
"Yeah, everything's fine. And don't worry, the roof will hold," I said, feeling caught up in her confidence.
Lucia gave a victory gesture and shot me a look that mixed determination with excitement.
"I told you we'd make it. Tomorrow, everything will be in place, like always," Lucia said.
I paused, observing the surroundings, the children already relaxing after the effort, as the last light of the day streamed through the windows. Knowing we had avoided the worst gave me a sense of relief, even if it was temporary.
Before leaving, Lucia threw one last comment my way: "Next time, you'll see, the roof will be even better. You just need to believe, Atlas."
I nodded, not entirely sure, but grateful for the way she saw things.