ASHEN

Un •• Pilot

"I don't wanna sit with her, mommy. She's weird."

"You have to, sweetie. Her mommy's my boss. If you want to get that Barbie collection you want for Christmas, be nice to her."

For the favor of my mother, adults would be willing to coax their children to act fake.

"Her eyes are scary. They're like that scary vampire's in the movie."

It was and never will be my fault that I have an unusual eye color.

I wasn't bullied or anything. My childhood wasn't rough. I had loving parents and we were quite wealthy. But that didn't mean that I was normal by norms, no. I was deemed as weird, too weird, hence why I wasn't bullied. Other children were either scared or weirded out by me.

Apparently it wasn't normal for a child to be quiet and paint or draw alone. Or even read in peace.

I'm not mad or even sad about that, I am at peace with that matter and I'm perfectly content with it. I know that my face was the problem; they lacked emotion. I rarely smiled because only a few things amused me as a child.

And here I am, wearing the same expression of nonchalance, staring at the caskets that were to be buried beneath the ground. My parents.

Everything was fine and completely normal by my standards, there was light rainfall and my parents were out on a dinner party and were on the way home when they had a car accident. The incident report stated that the road was slippery and the tires couldn't handle it. Their bodies were never actually found. So in all honesty, they were burying nothing. No dead bodies, no ashes, completely nothing.

I felt calloused hands rub itself on my bare shoulders, the owner sniffling and whispering comforting words to himself because he knew my condition. Charlie Swan, he was my mother's best friend and they were very close, so close that his wife, Renee, got jealous often.

My father didn't really have any friends. He was strait-laced of a lawyer. My mother was a business woman. They didn't have much time with me but I knew that they loved me and spent time with me as much as they could.

"No, Bernard! I don't want that- that child in my home!" A shrill voice whispered violently to my father's cousin, "But, darling. Come on, that's the least that we could do for Margaux. He helped us quite a lot."

"But still! Look at her! She's not even crying," Rachel hissed and pointed a manicured finger at me. "If you think that isn't freaky at all, I don't know what is." Bernard tried to reason with his wife and daughter. He won.

And that, was when my life first took its flight.