Trail of Ashes

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My body slowly wakes. I open my eyes and find myself once again in the old warehouse, alone. I sit up and look around. Smears of black ashes scatter across my clothes, blankets and my bed. Piles of them are trailed on the dirty floor. Despite my yawning, I feel well rested.

Last night comes back to me and I find myself questioning my sanity. Was it all a dream? Seeing the trails of ashes confirms Mortem's visit. Yet, I am not convinced about anything else. I remember telling him the painful story of my past. Then I tore off my shirt and revealed my horror to him. My cheeks heat at the embarrassment I feel. I remember getting lost in his black eyes and then I blacked out.

What would a handsome being like him want with me? That question has been tearing through my thoughts since the day he saved me from those men. He told me he would answer my questions after I told him about myself. But he never told me anything. He just touched me. He touched my scars. The memory has me feeling shameful. I shouldn't of let him see them. My hope was to scare him off. To protect him and myself. Yet he drew closer to me.

I let out a frustrated sigh. I hardly know who or what Mortem is. He confuses me and as much as I want to push him away, I have so many questions. My grumbling belly interrupts my thoughts. I grab a can of peaches and dig in. Once I finish breakfast, I get dressed and load up my dirty clothes to take to the creek. Hopefully the hard manual labor will keep my mind off of Mortem.

***

I'm walking the trail back to my home when I hear voices ahead. I stop dead in my tracks and hold my breath. The thick brush makes it hard to see anything. The voices belong to men but I can't tell how many. I strain my hearing and pick up bits and pieces of the words.

"...where she goes. I know it. She's in there..."

"Only one way to find out..."

I tuck myself behind a large tree and wait. My wet clothes feel heavy in my backpack. My sweaty palms clench my straps tighter. I could pull my knife from my bag but I'm frozen with fear. I hear metal moving and I know the back door is opened. Their voices get quieter as their footsteps hit the pavement inside the doorway. Soon I hear the squeaky door close and the voices stop.

I take a deep breath and figure out what I'm going to do. Men are in the warehouse and they're looking for me. It could be my father, the cops or maybe my attackers from Friday. Either way, I'm no match for them. I quickly weigh my options. I can run and hide out until before dark and take a chance at coming back. Maybe they'll be gone by then. Or I can take my clothes and run. Take the money strapped to my leg and what little items I have in my bag and start over. Find a new place to hide out. Both include running which I already find my legs doing. I take off down the trail and head down creek.

Fear clenches at me. I feel like I'm being chased. My belly aches and my lungs burn but I keep running. My back aches. I glance behind me a few times but find no one. I slow down a few times to catch my breath but I keep up a quick pace. I keep a steady hike for two solid hours.

I don't recognize my surroundings and my guess is I put a few miles between me and the warehouse. I keep close to the creek. Branches smack my face and twigs pull at my snarled hair. My wet clothes have made my back ache and I feel like giving up. Why do I run? I should have faced them. Maybe they would of killed me and this miserable life would be over.

I attempt to put a wall up of my unwanted emotions and thoughts. I focus on the items I need to start over. This is something I have done many times. Run and start fresh. It doesn't make it easier. I have very little items on me and I need supplies. I have less than a dozen pieces of clothing, my watch, knife and a package of dry ramen. But first I need a place to call home.

My stomach cries out for food and I decide to stop. I drop my bag and collapse beside a tree. The bark digs into my back but my tired feet are slightly relieved. My head tips back then and my eyes close on their own. I sit like that for a while. I don't know how long. I listen to my beating heart and feel the hunger pangs eat at my stomach.

After a while, I decide I'm too physically weak to go on. I fall to my side and curl into myself. As I lay in the fetal position my mind wanders. I think about my life. I try to imagine what it would be like if my mom was still alive. If she was a good mom who chose me over the drugs. The dam threatens to spill over and I decide to let it. The tears flow and my thoughts turn dark. I mourn the life I could of had.

It's hard to imagine that less than twenty four hours ago I had a tiny spark of hope. I let a man hold me for the first time and I felt safe. But where is he now? I mentally scold myself for being so naive. I do not have anyone to keep me safe and I never will. I have always been alone and empty. But I haven't always been broken. No, my father broke me the first time when I was seven. I was destined for this life then. Eleven years ago.

Just when I think it can't get any worse, the sky darkens with grey clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance and tiny sprinkles turn into cold pouring rain. I let go then. I give myself over to the earth and I sleep. I'm not afraid. The despair I feel outweighs the fear. I have no razor to slit my wrist, no rope to hang myself. I just lay there and hope that my heart stops beating and I fall into an endless sleep where I become nothing. My body will decay. No one will claim me. No one will mourn my death. I already mourned. The pounding rain lulls me into a deep sleep.