Prologue: In a magical land called Narwatyi, people never die and can choose to not age. Health is not a problem. For the few that live there…

92 years in the future:

Before we begin, I should tell you that there’s a slight chance you won’t believe me. But you should. Because this is your future. My name is Albert Gwalzty and this is my life, or at least I think it is. I live in a place relatively close to Narwatyi but not quite. We call it Easter Bunny Village. My life begins in a cardboard box being delivered to my mother. My mom had just had me and was stressed out. The reason for her stress was knowing she would either have to give me up to be raised in a gang or die from not having enough money. She chose to give me up. Just like that. Who’s your father you might ask me? I don’t know. My father disappeared as soon as I was born. My last memory of him was him saying that I was a disgrace and should not have time wasted on. My mom kicked him out after that.
Since the age of one, I’ve been with the gang, referred to as the Bangdalysh folk. Growing up wasn’t easy. It’s not the easiest thing when people frown at your very existent for not having parents. They call me Ponyo on the streets. I’ve come to take it as my own name. It’s one of the only things I can take as my own. Living with the gang is tough. The leader, Brian, has strict rules. Rule number 1: Always obey Brian. Rule number 2: Never lie to Brian. Rule number 3: Death is certain if absolute obedience is not given. I lived a life of stealing and thievery. It was my job and only way to stay in the gang.
“Ponyo!” Back to the real world. I ran up the stairs as fast as I could. Brian called me again. I knocked and he said, “Come in.” I wondered who I would rob this time. “Ponyo, I asked you a question? Are you loyal?” “Yes sir!” I replied. “Prove yourself by banding, term for robbing, Robert.” “Yes sir!” I shouted. I ran out and walked into town.
The gray sky loomed above me making remember the times when allegedly there was a blue sky and green grass. It sounds corny and I didn’t believe it. As I neared the shacks where old people live, a little boy about three years old ran out screaming “foo, foo”. I kept walking and then he shouted again except this time he was pointing at a nutrition bar. I pulled it out and waved it in front of his face. “Take me to Robert and it’s yours.” He nodded and ran off in some direction. After three minutes a foul stench took up the air. It smelled of death and sorrow. Pain and the burden of the old filled the air.
We kept walking when the boy, which I named Foo, suddenly stopped and pointed. I started walking but Foo tapped me and whined. I remembered and gave him the bar as I walked up the stairs. I approached the door and saw a pile of junk the old geezers crap. It looked like it had been carefully placed out. I asked out loud, “Is anybody here.” “Look behind you” a deep voice responded. I jumped and looked behind me and sure enough the old geezer was behind me. He looked exited in a dull tired way. Like he was tired of living but happy to see me. “I assume you saw the pile next to the door. That’s all I have. Take it and go away.”