Words and Ashes

Armed with my greatest weapons: My Mind and a Pen

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"The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself."

-Albert Camus

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"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."

-Jack London

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Like a Phoenix

    Red and blue lights light up my neighborhood in the dead of night. Sirens wail. A crowd of people gather just down the sidewalk, watching as the smoke billows from the house I used to call home. I’m watching from the back of an ambulance, while a medic continuously asks me if I’m okay, but can’t seem to figure out that I cannot speak.

    I grew up in that house that is now charred black with ashes now. Its crazy for me to think that only hours ago I was snuggled in my bed, worrying about what I should wear to school the next day. Never had I thought about how good I had it, or how quickly it could be taken away from me. I had a family that loved me and supported me, even if I could never tell them how much I loved them. I always had a roof over my head, and food to eat. I had it better than some did, and I took it for granted like most teenagers do.

    A tear slips down my cheek as memories rush me all at once of a life that burned in the fire. The day my parents brought my little brother home, presenting him to his big sister. I was so proud and protective, I never left his side until I had to start school. My fourth birthday party when my parents had rented horses for all of us to ride because I said I wanted a pony. Coming home when I was eight to be told that my parents were considering adoption. Then, only a year later, I met my sister, Adeline. Achieving highest honors in school and Mom fixing my favorite meal to celebrate. Dad complaining on Christmas because Mom had made him wear reindeer antlers, so he was in the “Christmas spirit.” Dancing around the kitchen with my siblings while making breakfast in bed for my Mom on Mother’s day. A million memories flash by in seconds. They are the only ones who understood me, even if they could never hear a word from me. I loved them with everything I had, and not once did they question it. But now, that life is gone, and I’m alone.

    The medic by now is getting very irritated by my lack of response to him, as if its my fault I can’t answer.

    “Miss, are you alright?”

    I nod, and he looks thankful for some kind of response from me. He takes my hand and squeezes it to comfort me. His look is full of pity, and I understand why. Its not everyday that you get to treat the lone survivor of a house fire.

    And then, its like I’m no longer there. My vision blurs and then disappears altogether. I’ve escaped from the nightmare that has overtaken my life and retreated to a place deep in the recesses of my mind, where no one could ever look at me like that again. No one would look at me like I was some poor creature, because I’m not. I am strong, and will pick up all the broken pieces of my life and move on. My family would want me to do that for them, and so I shall. And now, in this place in my mind where I have taken up residence for the temporary moment, I begin to think.

    Perhaps life is cruel, and yes, it hits us when we’re already down. And maybe, it always seems to make a bad situation worse. But I think, that deep down, it does it for the better. Every bad moment has to end some time, and let the good rain in, even if only for a moment. And what do we do while waiting until that time comes? We hope and have faith, even when it seems that all hope is lost and faith is only for the childish people. All these bad things happen for a reason, and all of them make us better people when its over. We may not like how Life plays this game, but we have no choice in it. We are merely pawns in a game of chess, playing our part until we are taken by Death. Life may seem like the bad guy, but we play for his team until we’re out of moves. And much like pawns in Chess, we have no say in what happens or how long it last, but we do have a say in how we take it.

    My vision begins to come back, and I hear the medic say, “Are you sure you are alright?”

    I nod again, but this time, truly meaning it. I see my Aunt come over to the ambulance and she wraps me in a hug.

    “Come on, Sweetie, let’s go,” she whispers in my ear.

    I nod once more and stand up.

    The medic, then, asks my Aunt “Why won’t she talk?”

    “Because she can’t. She’s a mute. She has never spoken a day in her life, and even if she could, she would probably be in too much shock to say anything anyway.”

    The medic looks at me, once more with pity written all over his face. However, instead of letting it upset me, I lift my head in pride and walk away with my aunt, away from the smoke, ashes, and charred memories. No more am I that little girl who was pitied by everyone, she died with her family in the fire. Like a phoenix, I raised from the ashes, born anew. And this time, I will be stronger.

~Ash

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"There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."

-W. Somerset Maugham

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"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed."

-Ernest Hemingway

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Miles

Life. Death.

Separated lovers.

Almighty Gods.

Life and I were cut from the same fabric of time. We were twins intertwined in Fate. Life, being the creative and easily bored one, made subjects of all forms to occupy his eternity with. As I had no ability to give life, I simply watched on, curious to see how these creations fared in his realm of existence. As overpopulation quickly became a problem, Life sent the older souls, the ones that he had grown bored with, to me. A simple gift between lovers.

Life's subjects soon realized that he grew tired of them too quickly. They began to fear and resent the unknown shadow commonly known as little ol’ me. They grew jealous of my close relationship with Life, the eternity I would spend with him, while they had only mere seconds in comparison. They began to work together to push distance between Life and me. Their seconds turned to minutes as the distance seemed to grow by miles.

Life still sends me gifts, but they take longer and longer to reach me. His subjects even seem to believe that they may overcome me one day. They can not overcome the will of Gods.

Sitting upon my throne, I welcomed another soul into my realm. My chest swelled with power as I looked over my new gift from Life. They steadily came these days with all the wars, terrorists, and diseases plaguing Life's realm. The man before me shook visibly.

“W-Where am I?” his voice quivered.

It was always the fear that I didn't understand. I had never gone into Life’s realm and raised hell. His creations did enough of that on their own. Most of the time, their soul’s transition between Life's realm and mine was harmless, peaceful even. Of course, some souls didn't let go as easy, causing violent accidents, spurring fear in their brethren. They even sent each other here during their wars and acts of God. Yet, they feared me, but not each other.

“You're in, what your people call, the Underworld.”

However, we weren't under their world. More like, we were beside it, simply mingling on the edge of it, but I suppose Underworld sounded more ominous.

“I’ve died?” he asked, trying to chalk this up to a wild hallucination or dream.

There it was. The age old disbelief of death. They never seem to believe that Life ends, that finding yourself in this room in my realm was inevitable. This was their fate, even if they tried to escape it.

“Yes, you have.”

And so the crying and pleading for their mercy on their soul would begin soon enough. The begging to be sent back, the promise of unfinished business, was the same from everyone.

The fear in the man's eyes was washed away by relief. I was taken aback as he began to smile.

“For years, I wished for this day to come. I am happy that I no longer have to suffer.”

I studied the man in front of me. He seemed ordinary, but younger than those I usually meet here, barely in adulthood. His eyes seemed to reflect joy, but seemed to hide so much sorrow from the life he had lived. Even his smile seemed wrong, as if it hadn't been used in a while.

“Come closer,” I gently demanded, offering my hand out to invite him on the dais.

He inched closer, taking my hand. I closed my eyes and reached into the man's memories.

Miles. Miles was his name. I pushed further into his soul, pulling at memories to tell me why this soul was different. I saw the taunts, the bullying, the hate crimes against him. I saw the men he loved and took to bed and how his brethren treated him for it. Never had I imagined the hatred for such a kind human being, the hatred for love. I saw him take a blade to his skin, the hatred so entrenched in his life that he hated himself for the love he felt. I felt his misery and pain, his need for a way out. I watched him tie the noose and the sweet relief of his snapped neck.

I opened my eyes.

“You wanted to die. You wanted to escape Life and come here,” I whispered, unsure if I should be appalled or surprised.

He nodded slowly, unsure of his decision.

I had never known someone to act as he did. I was sure this had happened before, but their souls had never been so relieved, so happy to be in this room looking upon me.

Life had sent this soul to me for a reason. This gift was to make up for the distance, the miles, between us. The man before me was a creation made by Life for me, someone to share this realm with.

“I have seen the love and compassion that you carried in your heart, and the hatred that met you in every waking moment. I have an offer for you. A friendship and a job, where you will be shown the compassion and decency you seeked in your life and have the ability to help those, unlike you, who are terrified of this realm. You will guide souls here and ease their transition. In return, you and I will make up for the hatred you felt in your life.”

The man considered my offer. He boldly stuck out his hand in agreement, in friendship.

Miles, my Grim Reaper, the welcome mat of your fate, has served by my side for eons. He walks the distance between Life and Death, showing me that maybe it isn't so long after all.

~Ash

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"A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity."

-Franz Kafka

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"When we read, we start at the beginning and continue until we reach the end. When we write, we start in the middle and fight our way out."

-Vickie Karp

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Dawning of a New Era

Fire flickered furiously in his palm, juxtaposing the raging calm in his heart, burning its way into his very soul with every passing moment. He heard the screams of those he loved nearby, but a world away. His vision bloodied by the rage, the heartbreak, the storm about to break loose. A glance to the corpse lain before him, the body that he had memorized every perfect imperfection of and the head of those golden eyes and brilliant mind lying mere feet from it, set his teeth on edge. The man with the Cheshire smile behind the body was soon to find the damage this oncoming storm would unleash.

His head rose, meeting those villainous eyes, as his face began to mirror that opposite of his. He drew his sword, fire dancing along the blade, as the screams around him disappeared entirely. He watched fear worm itself into the eyes of his enemy, his flames burning black malice. He was a ship lost at sea, without his anchor. They wanted a monster, a ruthless ruler. Let them have what they want.

He opened his mouth, growling, “Run,” wanting to toy with his prey.

The man before him took the bait, fleeing from the room. He grinned maniacally at the people still in the room before taking off on his hunt. Out of the room, he chased the man down familiar halls. He had grown up here a lifetime ago when life was simpler. Swords were cardboard then, the biggest injury being a self inflicted paper cut. Diplomacy was merely what snack to trade to get the better toy. He passed room after room, each with their own memories. The rooms where he met her, they shared their first kiss, he promised her his heart. He ran quickly through the halls, slowly catching his older, weaker prey, and running from the life he used to live.

The man ran out into a closed off courtyard, a dead end. He watched the man turn and face his death. The world had gone silent, not a sound to be heard for miles. It seemed to press down on him, a pressure to issue mercy on his prey. But the man had no mercy when he ordered the execution order, when he cut the cord between the lovers.

“Son, please...find mercy…for your King, your father,” the man pleaded. The sliver of fear had encompassed every ounce of his body, now shaking like a leaf. The ruthless leader had fallen in the face of the fire, scared of the power coursing through both their veins.

He laughed a mechanical, broken laugh.

“Mercy for the guilty? For those of who saw innocence slaughtered at their hand?”

Fire spread throughout the courtyard, trapping the two within. The man began to reek of desperation.

“I only wanted the best for you, for our country, son. You must understand that. She stood in our way.”

Tears slipped down the man's face, but did nothing to change the jury and executioner’s mind.

“Alaina saw the possibilities of a new dawn, was the spark of hope in this life of mine. The only thing standing in my way, this country's way, is you.”

The fire quickly retracted as he stalked towards the man, joining with the sword as it was plunged through his chest. The body burnt from the inside out, until only ash remained.

He turned from the courtyard as the first tear fell, as the fire in his heart blew out. He began walking towards his new life, a life of his making, a life without her.

~Ash

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"Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

-E. L. Doctorow