Ash

"Hi there. My name is Ash. I would like very much to tell you a story. Well, my story, to be more accurate. But, in order to fully understand my tale there is one important thing to keep in mind.

I AM NOT LIKE YOU

I was not born from my mother's womb in the sense you are accustomed to.
Though much pain and suffering did go hand in hand with my entering this world.

I AM NOT HUMAN

My parents are not human. Or rather, were not human.
My Mother was Forest, my Father Fire.
One day He came to Her and ravished Her. Nothing was left but Ash. Nothing was left, but me.
So in a sense, I am Her and She is me. And the same goes for me and Him, I suppose."

Ash looked up from the page in front of him. He stared into the oval mirror attached to the desk. Bright, flame coloured eyes stared back. A tear ran across his face, leaving a trail of black, sootlike specks on the light grey skin of his cheek.
"Why do I always cry when I think of Her? Of Them?", he asked to himself.
He grabbed the ornately cut whiskey glass and downed its remaining contents in one gulp. His throat burned in smoked and peaty tastes. Let it burn was practically carved into his essence. He shook his head wildly, ran his hand through his almost-white hair, ruffled it a bit and got up from the heavy armchair propped up to the desk. Looking around the room you could tell it held a former greatness, most of it lost to the hand of time. The paint on the walls cracked and peeled off, much like the leather of the sofa and armchairs. The dark wooden cabinets lost their shine in most places and were largely covered in heavy dust. Every corner of the room, as well as the crystal bottles of various spirits, riddled with cobwebs and more dust.

The ghost inevitably found in such a room stood still and silent. They watched intently as this new character appeared on their eternal scene. Ash acknowledged their presence, yet paid them no further heed.

The next morning

"Hi there. My name is … Ash. Hang on. I’ve… I’ve been here before. At this sentence, this page."

Ash looked up from the page in front of him. He stared into the oval mirror attached to the desk. Bright, flame coloured eyes stared back.

Slowly, as if afraid of what he would find, he turned to the previous page, and the one before that, and the one before… The same words stared back at him, no matter how many pages of the thick tome he turned.

A Note from the Curator

This piece began as a small experiment—an idea that came to me and refused to leave. Though Ash’s story remains only a fragment, its fire burns softly with the promise of more. I don’t yet know where it leads, but I'm sure Ash will soon feel ready to muster his courage and step out of his room. I look forward to find out where it leads him when he does.