I sat amidst the cool, short grass watching as figures loomed to and fro throughout the village. These were people whose names I could not remember, people I saw from day in to day out, people who took no heed of me. This is understandable considering that my family is not royalty. My mother is a Peasant Woman who spends her days to tend to the family. On the other hand, my father works in the fields under complex, excruciating standards as he makes a living by harvesting crops, planting seeds, digging into the earth and so on until dusk.

Gazing at the clouds is enough to mend my boredom and, to some extent, relieve me of worries and thoughts of the future. One can only think that a peasant as myself is built up and bred to carry on the wretched and depressing tasks of her parents. Some things in life are inescapable, but deep within myself, I have a sense that someway somehow I can formulate a better destiny for myself.

The tall and somewhat brawny boy who lives in the small one-roomed house besides my own approaches me. I forget his name. Was it Vlad? Vladimeru?

His piercing soft brown eyes looked steadily into my own, and he had a comforting, warm smile. Like most of the males inhabiting the village, his hair was fairly long (almost to his shoulders), and it was a wavy deep brown. As if to show that he had come from long working hours, his tunic was spotted with dirt and some of it was even on his breeches.

"Farah, what are you doing, sitting in the grass?" he inquired. "You cannot dirty your gown. There's only so many to go around."

"I know, but I guess it doesn't quite matter. We're peasants," I said. "We're always going to do something that will cause our clothing and nails and hair and such to get filthy while all those of riches and wealth don't even have to lift a finger." I sighed in sorrow. "Vladimeru"-I decided that was his name-"don't you see, we're bound to repeat the same stressful cycle of our parents and grandparents and the ones before them."

"What if I said that wasn't true?" he contradicted. "What if I said there was hope?" He reached into a small bag which was hung onto his belt. Out of it, he retrieved a vial. The contents within it appeared to be mystical. "What if I, Vladimir, confessed that I possess intriguing powers? Powers that have never been heard of, powers that may be thought of to be unreal, powers which only the lucky can obtain." He removed the top and handed it to me.

I looked at the liquid inside. It was pink and bubbly; I was very certain that drinking it would be no good.

"With the coins I have saved up, I was able to obtain this from a merchant," Vladimir explained. "He claimed that this very liquid can make the poor rich. It may take days or even months or even years, but he promised the liquid will work its magic."

I was uncertain. "How do you know it works?"

"Trust me, Farah!" he pleaded. "The merchant was selling it at an insane price and people were gathering around to pick what little they could from their bags. The fact that I, a peasant, could afford this vial must mean something to you."

Against my will, I said yes. What was there to lose?

I swallowed the pink liquid to the last drop, and it seemed like a refreshing air had wafted around me. Maybe that was meant to be a sign of some sort. A sign that that things may become better.