[Note]-[This is my first novel, and I acknowledge that the first 15-20 chapters are not my best work. I won't be revising them anytime soon. Despite this, I encourage you to give "A World Unwritten" a chance; I've put a lot of effort into completing the first volume. If you're looking for a more polished story, please check out my second novel, "Astral Anomalies," a well-crafted apocalypse-themed fantasy.]
-
"Ugh..." A groan escapes my lips as piercing sunlight forces its way through my eyelids. Instinctively, my hand comes up to shield my eyes from the glaring light. Why am I outside? The ground beneath me feels hard and uneven; the air carries a pungent mix of odors that makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust.
"Where the hell am I?" The words are a half whisper, half gasp as I force myself into a sitting position. A quick glance at my hands sets off a surge of alarm; they don't look right. The skin is too smooth, the fingers unfamiliarly slender. Definitely not mine.
A puddle nearby catches my eye, its murky surface reluctantly offering a horrifying reflection. I lean over, my breath catching as I look down. Staring back at me is a face I don't recognize; young, with features clearly not mine. I touch my face, half expecting the reflection to shatter, but it only confirms the alarming truth. "No no no no, is this some sick joke?"
My words are breathless, eyes shaking with fear and disbelief. "Just what the fuck is going on... What is this place?" I mutter, scanning the surroundings. The buildings are rundown, streets littered, and an air of despair hangs heavy. This must be the slums. But there's just one little issue with that. I don't recall my city having any slums...
A low hiss escapes my lips, pain lancing through my body as I clutch my growling stomach. "It smells like shit..." I grumble, coughing from the foul air. Glancing down at my reflection in a murky puddle, I touch my face again, tracing the unfamiliar features. "I look... extremely ugly. Brown hair, and I think... hazel eyes? I don't have contacts on, no way...[1]" A wave of disorientation hits me. "I'm ugly but definitely younger..."
As I attempt to rise, my teeth grit against the sharp stabs of pain. "Ugh…" I steady myself, but my legs nearly give out beneath me. This body is worse than I thought... weak, starving, and painfully fragile. My gaze drops to the puddle again, to that unfamiliar face staring back at me. "I look like a damn homeless kid..." The words leave me low and flat, more bitter than shocked. My hand comes up to grip my temple as I force myself to think. "What the fuck happened...?" I mutter, staring at my reflection. "How am I supposed to make sense of this?"
"Hahahaha! Look at that crazy beggar," a voice sneers.
I turn to see a blond-haired boy with blue eyes laughing with a group of boys behind him. All of them are dressed too cleanly for this place, their mockery easy and careless. One of them steps closer, grin widening as he looks me over. "Hahahaha, what a pathetic little man."
I stare at them without answering. My eyes drop almost immediately to the swords at their sides. For a second, that's the only thing I can focus on. Why do they have swords? What kind of place is this? I try to pull myself back, but the pain hits before I get far, forcing me down again.
"Phhahaha! Look how weak he is," another boy says, pointing at me with a smirk. "Hey, how about we end his miserable life?"
Before he can take another step, he lets out a sharp yelp. Someone has grabbed him by the hair and yanked hard enough to throw him off balance. A girl stands behind him in a clean white and black uniform, her expression sharp with irritation. She looks completely out of place in the filth of the slums, like she stepped out of another world and into this one by mistake.
"What is wrong with you?" she says coldly. "Seriously, you always act like children. We're in the slums to earn points, and you still insist on causing problems."
The boys complain, but none of them push back. She lets go of his hair and turns toward me. Up close, the contrast is even worse. Golden hair, green eyes, clean skin, a straight posture untouched by the filth around us. For a moment, my thoughts stall. It isn't just that she's pretty. There's something strangely bright about her, enough to throw me off in a way I can't immediately explain.
"Are you alright?" she asks. The words sound polite, but there's strain underneath them, like she's forcing herself to ask.
I blink, catching myself staring. "I-I'm alright..." I manage, though the answer is obviously a lie.
She gives the boys one last glare before dragging them away. I watch them leave, jaw tight, the whole thing settling badly in my chest. Getting saved by some random girl while I'm sprawled in the dirt, this is humiliating, but I can't deny the relief.
A sharp hiss escapes me as I try to stand again, only for my body to give out and slam me back onto the unforgiving ground. "Fuck, that hurts," I mutter through gritted teeth, one hand clutching my stomach.
Leaning back against the cold, hard earth, I try to steady my breathing, but nausea rises too fast for me to stop it. "Huuurk... Blaaargh..." The sound tears out of me as I double over and vomit onto the ground, acid burning up my throat and leaving my stomach twisting painfully even after there's nothing left.
I cough, spit, and lean back again, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. For a second, I just breathe. Then the memory hits.
It's her.
My sister stands by her door, smiling the way she always does when she wants me not to worry. Her hand closes around the handle.
"No," I whisper, my voice already tightening. "N-no, don't..."
She slips inside.
The door shuts.
The click is quiet. Final.
Then the rest follows, as sudden and merciless as if I'm seeing it all over again; her body hanging there, still, unreachable, burned into my mind so deeply that even now I can't tear it out.
"No... no, no, no."
The words leave me before I can stop them. My hands shake as I reach out uselessly into empty air, as if I can still do something, as if I can still change it.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "It's my fault... I should've been there. I should've asked you. I should've noticed..."
My voice breaks apart. I lower my head, one hand clamped over my eyes, but it does nothing. The tears come anyway, hot and humiliating, and once they start I can't force them back down. My chest aches with every breath.
"Dammit..." I mutter, gripping my head harder. "Why did I let that happen...?"
A light tap lands against my shoulder.
I flinch and look up. A woman stands over me, her clothes worn thin and her face marked by a life that clearly hasn't spared her much, but her eyes are gentle. There's a tired kindness in the way she looks at me, like this isn't the first time she's found me like this.
"Brey," she says, knocking lightly against my head, "what did I tell you last time about crying?"
Brey? I stare at her, still dragging myself out of the memory. So that's this body's name. She wipes at my face with a familiarity that catches me off guard, then jerks her head for me to follow. "Come on. Those old men managed to get food for all of us today." Food. The word cuts through everything else. I let her pull me up and follow without arguing. I don't know where else to go, and right now that's enough.
We stop at a small gathering of beggars sitting in a loose circle, sharing what little they have. I lower myself down carefully, and the moment I do, one of the old men turns and slaps me across the face. "Ugh—" "What did we tell you about crying, little brat?" he grunts, shoving a bowl of soup into my hands right after. I look down at it doubtfully. It smells questionable, looks worse, and probably tastes no better. I eat it anyway.
"Stop acting like a child, Brey, you're an adult now," the old man says. "Tearing up over your parents abandoning you won't change anything. You've got a whole life ahead of you." The woman shoots him a look sharp enough to shut him up, then pats my back. "Brey, we're too old to leave this place," she says, gesturing vaguely ahead. "We've gotten used to living here. But not you." Another man snorts. "If you don't leave, you're going to eat all our food." Even so, someone smacks the back of my head, and another mutters, "Don't listen to that cranky old man. But I don't want to see you here anymore, got it?"
I stay quiet and keep eating. They're rough, loud, and half a step away from insulting me every other sentence, but none of them are telling me to get lost for real. If anything, it sounds like the opposite. By the time the food is gone, the gruff old man gets to his feet and waves a hand. "Alright, go to sleep, you slobs." I lie back on the ground after that and stare up at the sky. It's obscured by clouds, but I can already tell something is wrong.
[1] In his original body, he had blue eyes.