Before moving forward into the story, there are two things I want to do. The first is to explain who I am, and the second is to explain this store.

I have never really been an ‘outstanding person.’ I never really had good grades, and I never really paid much attention to them. I’m always moving to the next thing. Anything I am actually good at, I usually impose this big project for myself and then quit halfway through. Then I put down that talent like a child putting away a toy he will never use again.

I have brown eyes and brown hair. I am 15 and look like the most average American ‘kid’ (I don’t like being called that). Of course, now I wasn’t average—not only in the fact that there were people here looking like animals, but also the fact that most people were, how should I put it, what we would call African American. Of course, there were some exceptions: the pretty lady and the shop owner, whose name was Olivia.

Back home, I lived with a loving family and had a little brother. We lived in a town in Florida, and I went to a private school where I was decently popular. Yet I always hoped something like this would happen. Of course, nothing like THIS, but something like moving out to the big city or going to a boarding school far away. I believe this want for change comes from the amount of chances I constantly waste.

The store was currently being run by Olivia alone, so it lost its coveted title as an open 24-hour shop. That was because the last guy quit, and work as a cashier (for cheap) was not widely available. That, paired with my evidently poor circumstances that reminded her of herself when she had just come to this country, led to her offering me the job.

The shop was small and was divided into three sections: the magazine section, which was to the left of the door; a section with fruits, which were of semi-bad quality but decent for the area and were really popular because of the price; and next to both of them were your usual lines of products. Across from the door was the cash register, where I mostly worked.

I worked late at night, which was to my favor, because if I was going to be sleeping in a little chair, it was preferable for it to be during the day. The store credit she gave me was 20 prere (this world's currency) a day, which was enough for me to buy food each day and still save 10 prere daily. Olivia agreed that once I got enough money, she would buy me a book titled Beginners Guide to Strugurian.

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One night during my first week working there, a man who appeared no older than 30 came in. He quickly, with his hands wrapped in his pockets, headed towards the cash register.

“Roqil evah uoy od ih?” he asked.

I, of course, now somewhat accustomed, nodded and went for the liquor, which was behind me.

“Do you understand me?” he quizzed.

“Yes, which one would you like?” I asked.

“Whichever,” he responded.

I grabbed one that Olivia told me to give in these kinds of situations. It was rare for people to speak this tongue, so I had to learn all the drinks phonetically. I was pleased to be able to talk to someone.

“Where are you from?” he inquired—a question that left me puzzled.

So I replied with the first thing to roll out of this tongue of mine: “I come from a faraway land with a dream. Are you the prince here to rescue me?” I imposed.

“Oh no, I only save pretty girls,” he replied, accentuating the word girls to give it a comedic tone.

“So tell me, what is a guy dressed as good as you doing in a place like this?” I asked.

“Well, this place isn’t that bad.” He looked at himself. “I guess I am a bit overdressed,” he reminded himself.

“The how is long. If you really have to hear it, I’ll bring that chair over there, and we can discuss it,” he rambled while pointing at my sleeping chair.

“Sure,” I said. While I was saying that, he gave me the money for the drink, grabbed it, and then continued by stepping out, grabbing the chair, and placing it next to the cash register.

He took one long drink out of the bottle and began a long speech.

“Kid, you probably don’t know this, but this kingdom—it’s being sucked dry from within. The king is nothing more than a pawn for the queen, and the queen is nothing more than a pawn to the nobles. And the queen is my sister, and I cannot allow this. But of course, the nobles hate me for it—hate that, even if for a second, I may have more control over my sister than them, which I don’t. Yet still, I am wrongly persecuted,” he ranted and then stopped, looking at his drink. He took another long drink and then asked me, “So tell me your story so we can get a decent back and forth,” he said with an annoyed tone.

“Well, where I come from doesn’t matter—also who I am—because I lack anything to prove. All I do is seek redemption and survival. I live in the street and sleep in that little chair you’re sitting in,” I mumbled.

“Redemption from what?”

“Myself. I have always been quick yet accurate in judging others—and myself—always holding this superiority and insecurity about everything. So it took less than a week here to realize how much of a shitty person I truly am,” I added, not worrying about what he might think.

“Well, look at us getting all serious. Let’s truly bond, kiddo, and have a really serious discussion. So, what’s your type in women?” he stated.

We continued discussing for a while. He liked more animal-like women, while I preferred actual women. We had a passionate discussion until the clock said it was time for him to go.