Her Birth.

Prolgue

 The stench of burning paper, wood and carpet seeps into my nose alarmingly fast. One moment there was nothing, the next a bright excruciatingly hot glow fills up the room. A dark Shadow quickly leaves the room in the blink of my eye to be replaced by the flicker of flames devouring everything in sight, each flame clawing and creeping into every corner. A bright shadow filled with death coming closer and closer towards me. A high pitched women's scream erupts from the stairs at the other end of the hallway as the sound of snapping wood reaches me. A cloud of dust filled smoke erupts from the once standing stairs. Glass shatters across the street in hundreds of shards as the window is forced away from the wall with the density of the purpose filled flames. Stretching out the fingers of the flames creep closer and closer towards me. The heat threatening to roast me alive as I stand powerless to move. The once plush green carpet turns black as the flames engulf it. The fire sweeps across my room disposing of everything in it's path like a swarm of locusts.  Pain suddenly explodes from my arm, turning my head I realise that the fire has sneaked around me from a different angle. It is my turn to be devoured.

With a gasp Ashta's deep purple eyes fly open wide with an intense fear, her heart rate galloping fast. Instinctively she rubs her left arm her fingers tracing the rough scarred skin that covers from her shoulder to her fingertips.  Taking a few calming deep breaths she settles her heart down to a normal rhythm once more. The panic from moments before beginning to subside a little. A dream it was just a dream. But the truth was it was not just any dream. But a memory. A very real painful memory of the night of the fire. The night of her parents death. She was five years old when it happened. Now thirteen years later she is still plagued by that night. During the day the scar running up her arm is a constant reminder, disfiguring her. Not only do people stare when they see it, but whispers and rumours that she set herself on fire, her father burned the house down because her mother had an affair,  that she killed her own parents, that she was so ugly her parents tried to kill her but it went wrong, that she was a demon and her parents tried to get it out of her. All of this Ashta could handle. Yes, it did knock her confidence down for a while, but she grew stronger than anyone ever before. She developed a kind of exterior shell to expel whatever negative comment was thrown her way. She took all of these rumours and whispers and ignored each and everyone.

Only It is not that simple, the one thing that all those who investigated the fire agreed on, was that this fire was no accident. The fire was deliberate. Her parents were murdered and she should be dead right now. Nobody knows why Ashanti Drogentstien survived that fire, with only 'minor' scars and no permanent damage while her parents perished. The fire raged in the house for two whole days before the fire-fighters could extinguish it. Aunt Elsie always gets the dozens of newspapers, both local and national out on the anniversary of her sisters death the title reading 'Miracle baby', 'Surviving the flames', 'ASHtanti survives ash'. Ashta does not rejoice in her survival as much as Aunt Elsie who always grateful to retain her niece, the one piece of her sister that remains.

Sleeping provides does not rest for the pain of the fire. Each night when she sleeps without fail she relives that night. In the beginning Aunt Elsie would come running into her room as the screaming started and gently wake her up. She would stay with her until she fell asleep out of exhaustion. She does not do that anymore. She thinks the nightmares have stopped, she does not realise that Ashta blocks her door each night to stop the screams reaching her. As Ashta grew older she knew her Aunt was worried about her, the bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep was a clear enough sign. They were her nightmares, no one else's, only she should be plagued with them. For years now Elsie slept peacefully each and every night.

Glancing at the window I notice that the sun is just beginning to rise into the sky, the red's and oranges momentarily remind me of the flames of my nightmare and for a brief moment my breathing stops as I feel as if the room is on fire. Brushing off the sinking feeling of death I throw the covers off and silently walks across the room to the en-suit to shower and get ready for the day. It's not as if I had to move silently, mostly likely Aunt Elsie is already up making breakfast, I have just always moved silently, my footsteps making almost no noise across the floor boards. Sometimes I could swear that when I walk there was no sound at all impossible right?.