It's been over a millennium since the age of the golden era, a time when apparently humanity flourished.

1,138 years later, you'd probably think society lives in futuristic cities, drives electric-powered cars, and vacations anywhere they want, right? Well, yes.

But for some of us, okay, maybe most of us, life isn't so great.

With 988 billion people all crammed up on a small planet, livelihood got poorer and poorer each century the clock turned, the only ones who live lavish lives, throw expensive parties every night, and dine on exquisite cuisines are the ones above.

In order for this new world to progress further as a species, for this overpopulation to be resolved, the higher-ups made a cruel decision to enslave the ones below.

People like me and my mother work; we build the cities the ones above use to live their lives. We are their source of entertainment, their workforce.

We can't do anything about it; if we refuse, we're either set for execution or thrown in the ring with a monster three times my size.

I've read a lot about the golden era of humanity a thousand years ago. The great hall of Soria has books all about the ancient livelihood of the golden era; it's crazy how much things have changed since then.

Humanity lost 36% of its living space about 700 years ago; the rising heat scorched jungles and marshlands, eventually turning the lushful green forest into a plain and hot desert that stretches from mountains to mountains.

The north had it worst; winter flooded the northern nations with snow, sending blizzards that killed millions in days.

The changes in climate led the animals to evolve; they've grown larger and more adaptable to the new world.

They are dangerous and more hostile towards humans; they often see people as food or a threat, so much that encountering one often leads to death.

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As a twelve-year-old boy, I didn't really think much of it.

Sitting right outside my window, I look at the dark sky, black as coal, filled with bright stars. I sit and think about the life before this madness.

Anyways, I have work tomorrow; my mother and I are tasked to mend a new road that supposedly leads outside the inner city.

Should I go to bed, or should I read a bit more? I thought to myself; I loved to read. For a plebeian boy like me, reading is my only option to entertain myself; besides, I like to think that knowledge is power. Even though education isn't an option for me, I read whatever book I can find.

I guess that's why the others call me a genius.

Ten more minutes… so I opened a book, but this time I'm reading a novel, a really good novel. It's about a man who fought for the freedom of his people and claimed himself to be the new king in order to correct the bad kingdom and change his people to do better.

I love reading that book; no matter how many times I read it, I never get bored of it. "Well, I'm tired now so I'm going to bed," I muttered to myself as I went under the covers of my bed, tucking myself in.

Tomorrow is another day of hard labor; of course, I'm looking forward to it. (I'm really not).

I wake up to the sounds of cheria birds chirping right outside my window, the smell of dirt and sand so strong I could smell it up in my room.

Living outside the inner cities is not great; all of us from below all live crammed up, our houses made of steel scraps, cupboards, and rubbers all sticked together with cement mix made from sand and dirt.

Which explains the bad smell every morning.

All of a sudden, I hear a loud and firm knock on the door. "Get up! You all have work to do!" A large man yelled right outside our house.

My mother responded before she came to my room to wake me up. "Aamon, get up, we have to work," she told me as she left my room to get ready for the labor.

My mother is the sweetest person in the world. She raised me as a single mother. I have no father yet regardless my mother raised me with love and happiness just so I can live a life not worrying about this madness.

"What are we having today?" I asked my mother.

"Bread," she replied, "same as always I guess," she added.

"If it's what the king provides for us, then so be it," I told my mother. She always reassures me that one day we will escape to a new country to live better lives. A dream she's always had since she was younger.

I know that's bullshit.

But for the sake of my mother, I played along.

In this new world, everything is unfair because of the people from above. If they say we live bad lives, we live bad lives; that's the only truth in this world.

I grow up miserable, live miserably, die miserably. That's what's been decided for me, and I've already accepted that.

We exit our home, carrying tools inside our worn-out sacks that we carry on our backs. "Today you will pave a new road for the inner city!" the man yelled in front of a thousand slaves.

He was a soldier for the king; behind him were a dozen more soldiers. "Failure to cooperate or do their task will result in serious consequences," he said.

"Get moving!" He yelled.

So we did, and all morning we paved the lands while the cruel soldiers were standing, doing nothing and abusing the slow.

We work beneath the scorching sun, moving our bodies each day; the life of a slave is not an easy life.

But that's a life already decided by the ones above. And we can't do anything about it unless we want to pay the price with our life.

A horrible, cruel world we live in.