Beggar's Shoes

"Ugh..." A groan escapes my lips as piercing sunlight forces its way through my eyelids. Instinctively, my hand comes up to shield my eyes, the glaring light an unwelcome intruder in this disorienting awakening. 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. Not mine.

A puddle nearby catches my eye, its murky surface reluctantly offering a reflection. I lean over, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. Staring back at me is a face I don't recognize - young, with features that are entirely alien. I touch my face, half-expecting the reflection to shatter, but it only confirms the alarming truth. "Who is that? This is not me..."

Panic tightens its grip, my thoughts racing in tandem with my heartbeat. "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 I don't recall this city having slums...

A low hiss escapes my lips, pain lancing through my body as I clutch my growling stomach. "It smells like shit..." I mumble, 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?" A wave of disorientation hits me. "I'm ugly but definitely younger..."

I attempt to rise, my teeth gritting against the sharp stabs of pain. "Ugh!... I look like a damn homeless." Desperation mounts, my hands gripping my head. "Why... why why why why why why is this happening to me? My life... it's gone. What the fuck happened!?" My words are breathless, eyes shaking with fear and disbelief.

"Hahahaha! Look at that crazy beggar," a voice sneers. I turn to see a blond-haired boy with blue eyes, laughing mockingly with a group of boys. "Hahahaha, what a pathetic man," he taunts, stepping closer.

I stare at them wordlessly. "What is going on? Why do they have swords?" My mind races as I try to crawl away, but pain overwhelms me, and I fall back.

"Phhahaha! Look how weak he is," another boy points, a smirk on his face. "Hey, how about we end his miserable life?"

But before they can act, one of them yelps, his hair yanked back, causing him to fall. A girl in a clean white and black uniform, possibly a school uniform, stands there, her face a mix of irritation and authority. "What is wrong with you? Seriously, you guys always act like children. We're in the slums trying to get your points up, yet you keep causing problems."

She turns to me, her green eyes and golden hair striking a sharp contrast to the dirt and grime of the slums. Her expression shifts as she forcibly asks, "Are you alright?" though her smile seems strained.

Her beauty catches me off guard. W-who is she? I've never seen a model like her before... "I-I'm alright..." I manage to stutter out.

With a final glare at the boys, she drags them away. I'm left feeling pathetic, saved by a random girl, yet grateful for her intervention.

A sharp hiss of pain escapes me as I struggle to stand, only to collapse back onto the unforgiving ground. "Fuck, that hurts," I mumble through gritted teeth, clutching my stomach. Leaning back against the cold, hard earth, I try to catch my breath but am overtaken by a sudden wave of nausea. "Huuurk... Blaaargh..." The violent sound of retching echoes in the empty air as I expel the contents of my stomach, the acidic burn in my throat unbearable.

Coughing out the last of the bile, I lean back, only for a flash of memory to strike me unguarded. It's her – my sister, her smile as bright as the sun, closing her door gently. "No, n-no, p-please don't close the door, d-don't do it!" I plead in a hoarse whisper, reaching out to a door. But the click of the latch is final, and what follows is a scene etched in nightmares: her lifeless body, hanging, suspended in a void of despair.

Tears stream uncontrollably as the image haunts me, her distant figure just out of reach. "N-no, no, no," I sob, my voice breaking, my hands shaking as if they could somehow alter this memory, this past. "It's my fault, I'm sorry, I should have been there. I should have asked you..." My voice trails off into sobs, the guilt a crushing weight on my chest.

Clutching my head, a sharp pang of regret stabs through me. "Dammit, why... why did I let that happen..." My thoughts are abruptly interrupted as I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. Turning, my eyes, red and trembling, meet those of a lady. She looks worn, the marks of a hard life etched on her face, yet her eyes are kind. A beggar, undoubtedly, but there's a warmth in her smile.

"Brey, what did I tell you last time about crying?" she chides lightly, knocking on my head. Brey? So, this body's name is Brey...

She wipes my tears away, her touch surprisingly gentle. "Come on, those old men said they managed to get food for all of us today," she says, her smile unwavering as she helps me to my feet, guiding me forward. I guess I should follow. I have nowhere else to go, and the gnawing hunger is too much to ignore.

We reach a small gathering of beggars, sitting in a circle, sharing what little they have. I take a seat hesitantly. An old man turns to me, his hand landing with a slap on my face. "Ugh, what did we tell you about crying, little brat?" he grunts, thrusting a bowl of soup into my hands. Is this even edible...? My stomach overrules my doubts, and I begin to eat, the taste barely registering.

"For crying out loud, Brey, you're an adult now, stop crying over your parents abandoning you. You got a whole life ahead of you," the old man scolds, only to be silenced by a glare from the lady. She pats my back, her voice soft but firm. "Brey, we're too old to leave this place," she gestures vaguely into the distance, "We're accustomed to living here, but not you."

Another man, his tone harsher, chimes in, "If you don't leave, you're going to eat all our food!" Despite his words, they all affectionately slap my head, adding, "Don't listen to this cranky old man. But I don't want to see you here anymore, got it?"

Their concern for this 'Brey' is evident, a mix of tough love and genuine care. He must have been a beloved figure among them. As they finish their meager meal, the gruff man announces, "Alright, now go to sleep, you slobs," smirking as he walks away.

I settle onto the ground, my gaze lifting to the sky. It looks different somehow, obscured by clouds but unmistakably altered.