Finding Asher

Chapter One

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Asher

Freedom.

There's nothing like it in the world. You don't truly appreciate freedom until it's taken away from you. I remember that as I step off the bus and into my new life here in Fort Collins. I breathe in the fresh, mountain air and take a moment to listen to everything around me. Civilization. I've missed it.

I walk along the sidewalk that goes through town, taking everything in. A lot has changed in five years. The biggest change I've noticed is smart phones. Everyone I pass by seems to have one glued to their hands and I can't help but notice their lack of buttons. People are just tapping away at the screen.

Skinny jeans are another thing I've noticed. I've heard of them before, but to see so many people wearing them puts this new trend into perspective. They look great on women, but on men? Where do your balls go?

A couple of women check me out as I walk past them. I guess I'm a good looking enough guy. I've always heard that anyway. I try not to let it go to my head, especially since underneath these dashing good looks lies a damaged, tortured soul. I turn around and give them a wink and they giggle. They look like college students, so I won't go there. Not my type anyway. Besides, I don't have time for women or the drama that comes along with them. I have one goal here in Fort Collins and that's to get the hell out. I need money to do that and I'll need a job to get money. Simple enough.

I pass by a bar and I'm tempted to stop in for a drink. It's been so long since I've had a cold beer. It would be nice to loosen up a bit.

After I pass by it, I stop and turn around. I look up at the old, weathered wooden sign that hangs above the building. Rocky's Bar. After a few seconds of contemplation, I head inside.

I sit down at the bar and wait for the bartender to make his way over to me. It's only three in the afternoon, so the only people here are your typical resident drunks; an old guy that's nearly passed out at the end of the bar sings along to whatever old country song is playing. A couple of men wearing suits are at the other end of the bar, discussing business. A few others are scattered around, but everyone seems to be keeping to themselves.

A young guy walks in looking quite dejected, and unfortunately, takes the seat next to me. Now, I'm not a bad guy. I'm actually pretty charming once you get to know me, but a conversationalist, I am not. This guy looks like he wants to talk. I just hope he finds me as unapproachable as most people do.

Out of the corner of my eye I can tell he's taking in my sleeves of prison tattoos, my slicked back dirty blonde hair, my rugged beard and tattered clothes. I'm used to it. My appearance screams dirty, low life criminal.

"What can I get you, son?" The old, gray bearded bartender finally asks.

"Just a beer," I reply.

He nods and steps away. The kid next to me is still staring a hole through the side of my head. Finally, I look up and meet his eyes. He quickly looks away.

"You keep on staring at me like that and I'm gonna make you buy me a drink," I tell him.

His eyes widen and his face turns red with embarrassment. "N-no. I just.... I was..."

"It was a joke, kid," I deadpan. He just smiles nervously.

He looks too young to be in this place. His light brown hair looks as if he meant it to look like he just got out of bed. His eyes are bright blue; almost translucent they are so bright.