Hey, I'm Ruka. See, you, I assume, are from a distant-from-mine planet dubbed by you guys as Earth. As you may have assumed by now, I live on Mars. You may think, "WOW! Mars? Now are you going to tell us about your lavish life, taking the flying train every day around the globe?" Great creativity, and props to you for that, but no. It was and is nothing like that. It's more like the early 1900s, but the floor's always red. I'll explain.
You see, we were born because, according to the most followed religion, Celestianity, we were dropped by celestial bodies from outer space to Mars' floor. Back then, they were pampered by the gods, living exactly that fantasy you may have been assuming—like, twelve seconds ago. Rations were plentiful, and, to be very honest, right now, millions of billions of years later, they still sort of—maybe—kind of are. Just don't say that "our houses were made of gold" or whatever, because our lives are probably more rubbish than yours.
Now, I've just been gushing about how our lives are so bad, so let me elaborate. The world—our world—has been split into two, three-ish parts. Two are kind of meshed together. People like me are in the lower class, and there are two equally-footed classes above us. Both are snooty, annoying, and jerks for the most part, and the only thing that separates the two is their gender. They are both always beautiful, always educated, and always pampered, just like billions of years ago. They also bargain with the public to not have kids. I resent this system. I just hate being pushed around and all that. Being a footstool in our lives (sometimes literally) is depressing. Luckily, I have a school to attend because my mom works for the heartless beasts at the top of the food chain. Hey, at least they gave us that, right?
Now, I'm just going to tell you stuff about my personal situation. Today's my birthday (yay!) and I'm having a lot of fun, but only for now. Tomorrow, I have scheduled, against my parents' plea, to venture out and create a bridge between rich and poor and maybe even get a trade-off. I have a few things packed for my journey. I don't know exactly how long it'll take to get down to the snooty places, but I've done my guesses and averaged them to find that my estimated time will be, um, 30.186968—and then a bunch of eights—days. So, I have taken thirty days worth of rations and thrown them into my brown, torn-up backpack, awaiting tomorrow.