Aska resented the world he was born into. With a half-hearted flourish he completed his drawing of Atlas, the smallest part of the world, though it was all the boy knew. There were three kinds of buildings in the picture: brothels, casinos, and whatever hovels constituted as the citizen's homes.
"Yep, looks shitty as ever." he gave a crooked smile.
From atop the run-down shack that he and his father called home, there was no other view. A 50-meter wall obscured the heart of the city, a place the slum dwellers had named Eden. The only sign of life within were the guards who patrolled the wall, though if anything the guards were more of a temptation than a deterrent. More fat than bones, that was all the slum-dwellers needed to see from the guards.
Eden periodically offered work to them. They promised good pay, plenty of food, and eternal life. Many jumped at the offer. The fact that nobody had returned to the slums was of little consequence. Even death was preferable to a life in the slums.
Aska glanced back at his drawing. It wasn't the first time he'd sketched the city. He honestly wasn't sure why he continued. Soot and ash provided all the shades of black and grey he would ever need but imagination wasn't something kids, or anyone for that matter, possessed. The generations which came before made that impossible.
He pocketed the drawing and descended the staircase of debris he'd piled nearby. Hungry, Aska wandered into their garden. More brown than green, the small plot of dirt was overgrown with weeds. Crouching down, he plucked a tuft of Wither Root from the soil. It was the cheapest food available and because it spread like an infection it was the premiere investment for a slum-dweller.
His father had paid three months' salary to afford the mound of dirt that housed their life sustaining plant. Shoving the wad of sustenance into his mouth, he readied himself. Chewing felt like munching on a live spider, the weed tickled his throat as he swallowed. After, his stomach growled, feeling like it had been fed air.
Repeating the process several more times, Aska collapsed next to the pile of dirt. Though he had consumed at least half the garden's worth of Wither Root, his hunger was unsated. It had been too long since he'd had anything substantial to eat. Carnivorously, the Wither Root multiplied in seconds until the dirt was once again teeming with the vile weed.
The green of the garden was actually one of the few splotches of color in Aska's life, though he absolutely refused to draw the wicked plant. He gagged at the idea, and before he actually did vomit he left the garden to head inside.
His dad sat on the grey stone floor of the one and only room that comprised their house. The home was colorless, save for his father with his cerulean hair and eyes. He nodded in acknowledgment of his son's presence. Neither of them was much of a talker, there was no point in a life so static. As a teen, Aska spent his days working odd jobs, while his father worked in the mines.