The Beginning of my Penance

Juliette’s Apartment

I’m not sure what angers me more: the stale air in this residence or the sound of my neighbors’ fornication penetrating the walls. My kitchen was nothing but plain wooden cabinetry, swaths of plastic counter tops, and steel appliances. Disgusting.

Punishment. 

An impossible assignment. 

I would have preferred death. 

Earth.

For a moment, the idea of returning to my ancestral home excited me—a world of historical legend, the battleground of the great war with Constantine. That feeling vanished the second I stepped into this city’s smog and endless concrete decay. 

Destined to fail and forced to suffer, I have accepted that this is the beginning of my penance.

In the bedroom, I recoiled at my reflection. My assimilation was  necessary for this mission, but I find these clothes… offensive. My tan complexion contrasted against the light denim shorts and black V-neck top I wore. Why do humans prefer such cheap fabrics? Revealing so much of their legs? Is nothing sacred for the bedchamber anymore? If possible, I would wear something less revealing, but the cooling machinery in this residence was inadequate, and the air remained permanently humid. 

I turned my attention to the establishment outside my bedroom window. Perhaps I could find some refreshment. The brick storefront is called ‘Polaris Coffee’ but I can see no affiliation with an intergalactic body. The realization was disheartening. Still, my thirst prevailed. 

I shall brave this journey. 

As I pushed open the warped wooden door to the shop, the most intense, peculiar smell assaulted me. Ugly peasants crowded the oak tables, conversing and eating. Perplexingly, the place was dimly lit despite the outside sunlight.  

No sign of any upper-class individuals. I see I am on the impoverished side of town. 

Many of the shelves were filled with plastic trinkets and ‘coffee beans.’ I inspected the small green bag before me. Is it food? Perhaps a—SO THIS IS THE SMELL. Interesting. I have yet to determine whether it is food.

“Gorgeous, can I buy you a coffee?” 

I turned toward the human male interrupting me. No weapon visible. His dark hair was sprayed about in a disorderly fashion, and his posture was poor. 

“Your confidence is disproportionate to your presentation. No.” I did not listen to his retort and went to stand in line for a drink. 

The decorated menu before me listed drinks and food items. What is a grande? Trenta?

As I reached the front, I was greeted by a long-haired, middle-aged man in a red apron. His unusually thick black brows were threaded with slivers of grey. I searched his person.  

No weapon. 

Low threat. 

“HELLO BEAUTIFUL GIRL, what do you desire?” His boisterous voice reverberated through the establishment. 

… Beautiful. 

Hm. 

“Which beverage can properly heal dehydration while simultaneously being pleasing to consume?”  

He lifted his brows as he grabbed a clear cup. “How about an Iced French vanilla for the heat, dear?” 

“Thank you for the recommendation.”

He directed me to the waiting area for my drink. The women beside me at their table were deep into a discourse on a male, ‘Matthew McConaughey’ and how ‘hot’ he is, and which one of them he should be allowed to date. 

Hilarious. I see these conversations do not differ from the ones back home. My brother Titian was frequently the subject of similar discussions. Former friends regularly begged me to ask if he would entertain them for courtship. Titian strongly dislikes me, so I never granted their requests.

“Order for Juliette!” The long-haired man handed me my coffee alongside a small paper bag I did not order. 

“A treat, on the house, for a fellow foreign-born like myself,” he added.

HOW DOES HE KNOW? Have I been compromised so soon? Impossible; my accent must have betrayed me. I knew I should have spent more time on my English studies. 

I returned home to continue my research.  

I’d like to believe I can be successful.