Fallen Ash

Chapter One: The Fall

It was an eerily quiet night. Only the crunching of gravel underfoot and occasional rustle of leaves broke the silence shrouding the long path to the train station, which sliced through the moors and, in this season, dipped between hues of murky violet and complete blackness. Hands buried deep in his pockets, a young man trudged on, his chin almost resting on his chest as he squinted through the darkness at what lay ahead. If he had glanced up for even a moment, he would have seen a vast, swirling cauldron of stars, unfettered by the light pollution of the city.

It was closing in on winter, and already that biting cold was edging in. Although he mechanically hunched his shoulders closer and kept his jacket firmly zipped to offset it, he hadn't really felt the cold in a long time. Lost in his thoughts, Austin Sanders kept walking, and would not notice that he had walked the distance he had until the glaring, overhead light of the unmanned train station platform rained down on him.

"The human spirit is resilient," his grandmother had murmured to him, only hours before, as she poured hot water into three, mismatched mugs, "but we flail like we're drowning when we get stuck, not knowing, not moving..."

She trailed off and looked out the window pensively. Peppermint leaves unfurled in the hot water, the rising scent drowning out that of roasting meat in the corner of the kitchen. Only when the window glass became fogged by the steam coming from the spout of the kettle did she shake herself and turn to face him with a gentle smile.

"We're very proud of you," she said softly. "You have endured more than anyone I know."

His grandparents lived in a rustic cottage with walls of jagged stone deep in the countryside. It took him forty-five minutes to get there on a good day when the trains were running without disruption, and a further twenty minutes to walk the distance from the little station to where they lived. He didn't go there out of any sense of duty or devotion however – they were the only people he could face right now.

Without any explanation, they understood and accepted. There were no long-winded diatribes or phony attempts at comfort. He was allowed to curl up in an armchair by the fire and watch mind-numbing soap operas with them in silence. At the beginning of autumn, he spent his days helping his grandmother with the more grueling aspects of gardening that had become a struggle with her aching back and stiff, rheumatoid fingers. Now that the first frosts had set in, he had taking to cleaning neglected corners of their house. They were grateful for his presence, but he was even more grateful for theirs.

Clambering up the ramp to the platform, sheltered from rain and snow by an overhanging corrugated steel roof, Austin barely acknowledged the digital display that indicated the train he had intended to catch was delayed. He took a seat on the faded plastic seats that had been bolted to the floor, and aimlessly lit a cigarette.

Now he was stationary, the only sounds to break the waves of silence were the creaking of plastic and his slow exhalations. Contrary to what he might have expected, the stillness had a numbing effect – his mind fell in sync his surroundings.

He didn't reach for his phone, buried somewhere in his backpack, because he had no one to talk to.

The battered paperback science-fiction novel he had been carrying around for weeks on end, too, lay forgotten – every page that preceded where he had dogeared his progress a dim, unreliable memory.

He lowered his back and crossed his foot over his knee, resting his head against the back of the seat so that he could better watch the clusters of insects festooning the light overhead. There was nothing else to see, apart from a few overgrown weeds within the circumference of light cast by the station – everything further out was a sea of perfect blackness.