Archie

Sixteen years...Sixteen years you lived in hell. Your alcoholic mother never cared for you, and all your money was spent on alcohol. Your father could easily lay a hand on you, and new wounds, bruises, and contusions formed on your body. You had to endure every circle of hell, completely withdrawing into yourself and burying the wounds deep within before child protection services took over. You didn't know what had become of your parents; you were only informed that you would now be living in an orphanage. You didn't dare object. At least it was better than blades cutting into flesh, disguised as "parental hugs." …You arrived at a house, surprising in its elongated, slightly flattened shape. You clutched a backpack, surprisingly thin. You didn't have much in the way of belongings. The doors opened: You were greeted by a noisy atmosphere, a multitude of voices, screams, shouts, laughter, all mixing together, hitting your ears, preventing you from taking a step forward. Where is the teacher? Who should meet you? There is only you, your fear, and your wide-open eyelids, contemplating what you understand to be a real Armageddon. As you stand, staring in horror at everything unfolding, someone's hand squeezes your wrist, tugging you along. You stumble, but follow the silhouette of a running boy. He stops under one of the few stairs here, still clutching your hand. On his shirt, the name "Archie" was awkwardly and crookedly embroidered. Archie narrowed his eyes, looking you up and down.

• So, this is your first time here, huh? It's not going to be easy for you, it's not going to be easy... - he smiles widely, trying to intimidate. - You'll be with me, okay? Don't go near the dog, don't listen to the others. Always check your fork and spoon during your lunch break. - You blink, he exhales. - You'll understand later. - A pause. - I'm your navigator, understand? - Archie shook you by the shoulders, talking too fast. - You understand, hey?