1 Beggar's Shoes

[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.]

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I open my eyes to a world that is not my own. The surroundings are unfamiliar, and the body I'm in is not mine. Panic rises within me as I struggle to understand what's happening. My heart races, and my mind fills with questions. What has happened to me? How have I ended up here? Is this some twisted dream?

As I look around, I realize that I am in the slums of an unknown city. The streets are filthy, and the air is filled with the stench of decay. People are moving about their business, trying to eke out a living in this dismal place. I try to get up, but my limbs feel heavy and unresponsive. I stumble, feeling the ache and hunger in my stomach. I am a beggar, and my life is one of misery and poverty.

A small existential crisis washes over me as I realize that my old life is gone. Although it wasn't a good life, it was still my life. I don't want to start over again. My thoughts are interrupted by a group of older boys, who seem to be eyeing me warily. I can tell that they are sizing me up, trying to determine if I'm a threat. I feel a sense of fear, knowing that I am vulnerable in this new body.

I try to stand my ground, hoping that my presence will be enough to deter them. However, my body feels weak and powerless, and I know that I won't be able to fight back if they attack me. Just as I'm about to make a run for it, a group of girls appears on the scene. They're older than the boys and look like they belong to a higher social class.

One of them, a striking young woman with piercing green eyes and golden hair, looks at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. I feel a twinge of shame, knowing that I am nothing more than a beggar in her eyes. But then, something unexpected happens. She speaks to me, her voice soft and gentle. "Are you all right?" she asks, concern etched on her face.

I am taken aback by her kindness. No one has ever spoken to me like this before. I feel a lump form in my throat, as I struggle to find the words to respond. "I'm... I'm fine," I stammer. "Thank you." The young woman smiles, and I can see a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. It's a small gesture, but it gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, I can find my place in this new world.

As she walks away, I watch her retreating figure, feeling a sense of longing and admiration. I don't know who she is, but there's something about her that draws me in. It's like she has a light that shines from within, a radiance that touches everything around her.

I try to stand up, but my legs give out from under me and I fall back to the ground. I wretch and vomit, my stomach heaving violently. What the hell has happened to me? I think as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I'm in the body of a young beggar, living in the slums.

As I try to process what is happening to me, memories flood my mind. Memories of my past life, of my sister, and the day she died. The day my world fell apart. I remember walking into her room and seeing her lifeless body hanging from the ceiling. I remember the overwhelming grief and guilt that consumed me. We had both been abused by our parents, but she couldn't handle it anymore. And I couldn't save her.

Tears stream down my face as I relive that terrible day. I cry for what feels like hours. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything. As I cry, a beggar approaches me with a look of pity in her eyes. I don't know this woman, but she seems to know me. She calls me "Brey," I guess that's the name of the original owner of the body I now inhabit.

"Brey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" the woman asks, placing a hand on my shoulder. I don't know what to say. I'm not Brey, but I don't want to upset the woman. Instead, I just shake my head and wipe my tears. The beggar looks at me with concern. "It's okay, Brey. Whatever it is, you can tell me. We're all in this together."

I feel a pang of guilt. These people have mistaken me for someone else, and yet they still show me kindness. I don't deserve it. But as the woman continues to speak, I realize that maybe I do deserve it. Maybe I deserve kindness and compassion just like anyone else. The beggar's words are interrupted by another one of her companions, who approaches us with a small piece of bread. "Here, Brey, eat this. It'll make you feel better," the second beggar says, holding out the bread to me.

I hesitate for a moment, but hunger overcomes me and I take the bread. As I eat, the surrounding beggars continue to offer words of comfort and support. I feel a sense of warmth in my chest, something that I haven't felt in a long time. These people don't know me, but they still care for me. It's a foreign feeling, but a welcome one. As the beggars continue to talk amongst themselves, I listen, realizing that they know more about Brey's life than I do. They speak of his tragic past, of his mother leaving him and his father being killed by bandits. They talk about how he has been forced to live as a beggar ever since.

I feel a lump form in my throat as I listen to their words. Brey's life has been filled with so much pain and suffering. How could he bear it all? But then, as if sensing my distress, one of the beggars turns to me with a smile. "You know, Brey, even though life has been tough for you, you've still managed to survive. You're a survivor, and that's something to be proud of."

I don't know what to say. The words strike a chord within me, and I feel a sense of determination wash over me. Maybe I can be a survivor too. Maybe I can make something of this new life, just like Brey had. As the night wears on, the beggars eventually fall asleep, huddled together for warmth. I am left alone with my thoughts, staring up at the starry sky.