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Ashen Poetry: Chapter 1: Empty

Here’s the first chapter of Ashen Poetry (still only a working title)

CW: for discussions of death and ghosts and brief thoughts of suicide

The world is so empty.

Rather more empty than it was when the older generation were kids. They speak of cities full of people and sound, pushing shoulder to shoulder, walking in chaotic lockstep, each headed their own way. They talk of blue skies, green fields, and white puffy clouds, clean breaths that didn't hurt, and a horizon that stretched forever in all directions. The world was fuller and cleaner back then, though the elders made sure to talk of its decline. It was cleaner but not clean and the air was dirty with the fumes of human life; the price of wealth. Though they may not have been beneficiaries of that destruction, there wasn’t anything they wouldn’t give to go back to that life...they could almost grasp it.

Honestly, Emery couldn’t believe them. They knew there was a Before but it couldn’t have existed in this same place, with its grays and grit; white couldn’t have existed in this smudged world, choked by the colorlessness of its own death throes. Blue was there, but it was always muted, chipped, and the only green they saw was the plants they ate from the hydroponics rooms. If the Before was as colorful as they said, life on the Endeavour would be too depressing to bear--or at least more depressing than it was already.

Emery was ok with grey.

It was all they knew, from the day they were born on the Endeavour and they suspected it’s walls were all they would see. Their home was a massive cargo ship, long since marooned on a beach by something. Nobody who had lived there was present when it happened and its walls weren’t the story telling type; damage, however, told a violent tale and that was enough. But the bulkheads were sealed against the forever blustering storm outside its walls, and so they were safe from the winds of glass that threatened to strip bare whatever dared defy them. Emery had seen strangers struggle their way to the hatch of the Endeavour, their flesh raw and pitted from the sky’s ash; they rarely lasted after that and, before long, they stopped coming.

It was hard work to keep their home from joining them. Everyone had a job and if you didn’t do it...well everyone made sure to do their job. It meant death otherwise; yours or the community, and everyone knew which to pick. They rarely had to resort to exile. You couldn’t last long without provisions in the Gray and the Endeavour wasn’t about to supply you. The community wasn’t above violence to maintain order but they didn’t relish it...usually.

There were many jobs, each as important and backbreaking as the last; Emery, themself, was an electrician of sorts, kept the ship running and as bright as it could be; there was no natural light, so it was their job to bring some to the world.

"Our little light bringer," the adults of the ship would say when they apprenticed with the master electrician before he was exiled a few years later for a murder or two….and an attempted dozen in an uprising against the system. He was a bad man but a good teacher and Emery took over his position immediately at the young age of 17, nobody else qualified to take it from them. Despite their job's importance, many looked at them with suspension; how could they have not known what Morey was planning? Could they not hear the whispers of revolt in his teachings?

No, they could not, but that didn't stop everyone from blaming them for the deaths; now that the culprits were sent out to die in the Gray, they had nobody to vent their hatred at. And so they turned to Emery and raised a wall. No longer were they the Little Light Bringer. But they never got a new title other than Head Electrician because the community never thought of them again; they did their job like always and spent their time ignored.

At first the whispers and stares bothered them, but the silence and flicking gazes bothered them more. When they were perceived as a threat, then they at least existed to the people of the Endeavour, but now, they might as well be a ghost; a wisp of movement at the corner of a consciousness and nothing more. After all, a ghost can't hurt anyone.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Of course a few of them saw Emery and paid them some mind–made sure they survived their years of abandonment–but they were few and far between. Old Miss Missy, the lead cook, was Emery's most vocal advocate, but most thought her crazy, with her talk of spirits and afterlives. But she cooked fine and they loved her stories of the Before, so they looked the other way on her ramblings. Charlie Mitchells was another but he had lost his voice to the haze years before and nobody bothered to try and hear him now; his hands often too busy to write while keeping the wind turbines that stole his agency running.

All in all, Emery kept their head down, ready for the noose that settled around their neck when they were at the cusp of adulthood to tighten and choke them as sure as the blanketed Earth would. They worked their fingers to the bones for a people who ignored their existence to the best of their abilities, safe for the moment from their stalled wrath. The Endeavour knew they couldn't get rid of Emery, not yet anyway. But that was their own damn fault for not training a new electrician to replace the tainted legacy that currently held the position; no parent wanted their child near associated guilt.

Emery thought of walking away from it all, tightening the noose themself and wandering out into the Gray; in their mind, they didn't even close the front door against the wind. They always came back to the present shaking, remembering Miss Missy and Charlie, as well as all the children they would leave in the dark; killing themselves would spite the innocent too. So they resigned themselves to a tense life full of violent silence, flicking wires, and small kindnesses.

"Dinner will be ready soon, deary," said one such kindness in a sweet warbly voice, age tight in every word, "I know you're always in a rush out of here but we've got a few new faces these days, so the extra takes time to make."

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Missy," Emery said, their voice a little sheepish, "I'll check back later."

"Oh I don't mind!" Miss Missy cackled, clanging her large metal ladle on the pot she was stirring, "if I did, this lot would have driven me bonkers decades ago!"

The Lot behind her had flinched at the loud ring of metal on metal and looked like they had a lot to say about Missy's bonkerness but noticed her companion and turned back to their cook stations.

Emery's mouth twitched into a small frown and ignored them as well, but Missy always saw too much.

"Tsk tsk, unbelievable, all of you," she shook her head, going back to her soup stirring, its looping steam fogging up her cracked glasses and filling the air with the smell of fresh vegetables and stale spices, "you shouldn't pay them any mind either; better for your sanity that way."

"I'll…" Emery's eyes flickered to the aggressively ambivalent room and shrugged, "I'll keep that in...mind, Missy."

They made a face and left as Missy cackled at their mostly unintentional joke, feeling eyes on their back. The humid scents of the kitchen gave way to the dry stagnancy of the rest of the ship. Whispers followed Emery as they wove their way through the cafeteria, debating if it was even worth it to come back for dinner tonight. They usually concluded it wasn't, but they had missed last night….and the night before.

A small body knocked into their hip from behind, a small grey blur of a girl ran down the corridor around the corner without looking back. It was Aisling, one of the children of the ship. Nobody knew who her parents were but nobody really cared either; if you did your job, nobody looked at you twice–it's how they have survived for so long–and Emery couldn't think of a time anyone had given her a single glance.

Turning to see what she was running from, Emery came face to face with Lars, the Overseer's lacky; they always said he was security but he really just broke anyone who said anything against the Overseer. He and Emery were close in age and it was almost refreshing to them to know that growing up didn't change everyone; Lars was always a bully.

"Hey reject," Emery could already tell this was going to be a constructive conversation, "did you see who took my rifle?"

They rolled their eyes, "I didn't, Lars," they said, fake concern rolling off their tongue before they could stop it, "did you try your back pocket?"

As much as they tried to not bring uncalled attention to themself, watching him grab at his ass to check his pocket almost made what happened next worth it. Almost. Lars grabbed their collar next and slammed them into the wall; Emery couldn't tell if the metal was ringing more or their head.

"You think you're funny, reject?" Lars growled into their face, his teeth close enough he seemed like he was going to bite them.

Emery grabbed at his wrist and weezed, "very much so."

Funnily enough, that didn't make him let go. Instead Lars ground his knuckles into Emery's neck, obviously trying to leave a bruise, "maybe I'll tell everyone you stole it and finally have an excuse to send your sorry ass to the Grey."

An almost feral grin made its way onto Emery's lips, "if you want to be the reason the lights turn off around here, be my guest," their hand pulled at the rough hand at their collar as they used their only weapon; their words, "but I remember you crying during the blackouts of our childhood. How's your fear of the dark these days, Larry?"

Lars's eyes went wide then narrowed and Emery knew they had won that round. The brute of a man growled as he shoved Emery's head against the wall once more and turned to stalk down the hall without another word.

Taking a moment to breathe and clear their head, Emery looked down the hall that Aisling had run down. Shaking the last of the ringing from their ears, they jogged after her, curiosity overriding their concern.

After all, why would a kid need a rifle?

Emery found Aisling at an open door to the outside, one that sat dozens of feet off the bank, the air bone dry and uncomfortably warm. The ash from outside leaked through the hatch in thin strands that smelled of a house fire and burning meat; not enough that it would poison the whole ship but it was still dangerous without a mask to filter out the gas and grit.

Something they noticed Aisling didn't have with her.

"You wanna die?" Emery let exasperation cover their anxiety about being so close to the outside, "That shit will cake your insides, leave you gasping."

"I'd rather die with a lung full of my own air;" the girl didn't even turn to face them, her dark eyes trained on the gray swirls that masked the horizon, "filled with ash like my name and not the dying breaths of others who waste them."

Emery sighed, rubbing the nap of their neck, "why'd I have to get stuck with the poetic one?" Their words were fondly irritated, knowing what they were going to get themselves into when they followed after her. They noticed the gun was nowhere in sight.

Aisling gave the adult a sad, crooked grin; one filled with more apology and missing front teeth than mirth, "Poetry," her tone, too, was sheepish, "That is also in my name."

She got a soft smile in return as Emery came up to the doorway she sat at, wary of the smog that seeped into their home but determined to comfort this girl; they would be fine without a mask for a bit.

An idea sparked in their mind.

"Well, guess I gotta speak your language to get through to ya, huh?" They said as they settled down beside her and waved a hand out at the hazy gray devastation, "see all that?" Emery started after a moment of thought, "that air belongs to the dead. They fill it with their bodies and their stench, claiming it as their own." Emery grabbed Aisling's shoulder gently when she didn't reply, her eyes entranced by the shifting waves of the atmosphere, "They don't want you to join them, both out of pity and spite; death doesn't like to share what it has taken nor does it like to take more than it should."

"It's taken more than its fill," the girl's voice was empty of emotion, just stating fact. And Emery nodded, knowing she was right.

"Yes it has. Don't add to it." Emery had seen far too many join those numbers; both on accident and by design, other's or their own, "Back inside, those are dying breaths cause the ones that used them are still living, still taking them. They're waiting for us…" yeah right, they thought, "as is dinner..." They shifted as if to stand but Aisling's quiet voice stopped them, her eyes still locked somewhere out of sight, beyond the horizon.

"I can see them, you know."

"Who?" Emery squinted in a random direction trying–and failing–to see what those dark eyes saw, "Is someone out there in the ash?" They sighed internally; the ship was not ready for a rescue mission.

"No–" Aisling's voice cut through their thoughts, "well yes, but not in the way you think." Emery shifted uncomfortably as she continued, her casually morose tone setting them on edge, "you say death doesn't share what it has taken…" she took a steadying breath, as if to ready herself for a difficult task. Her hard exhale danced through the ash, more carefree than either had ever felt in their lifetime; causing eddies and spirals before the wind picked up again and erased any trace, "but it does with me."

A shiver ran down Emery's spine and they knew they would probably regret asking, but they did anyway, "How so?"

"I can see them–" Aisling said again before her head tipped to the side in thought, "or what's left of them, I guess. I suppose they are ghosts, like Old Missy says in her stories, but that doesn't quite feel right."

The air in front of them was vacant beside the ever present choking ash–filling their lungs with each breath and slowly smothering them–and yet Emery believed the girl. There always felt like there was more in the air than just soot and death; so many died when the ruptures began, there were probably plenty of ghosts. Miss Missy muttered prayers under her breaths and taught the youths rituals to keep the spirits at bay. Emery usually ignored her insistence, instead throwing themselves into their work, but there was always a whisper at the back of their mind–and in the empty corners of their home–that made them wonder. And Ashe was never one for lying; she was honest to a fault, much to the chagrin of everyone who didn't want their ego knocked down a peg...though Emery always enjoyed watching her talk down to much older and bigger adults. Nobody ever seemed to know what to do with her. There was always the possibility that it was all the girl's imagination but, while Aisling's words were flowery and her gaze always seemed miles or years away, she was very grounded for a ten year old; flights of fancy just weren't her thing.

I suppose the world is interesting enough as is… they thought as they listened to their home creak and groan against the wind, living through what we have, ghosts aren't truly That weird.

Emery resigned themself to an odd conversation, knowing Ashe wouldn't budge till her thoughts had been said, "Can….can they see you?"

They chose and said their words carefully, as if the words themselves and their answers would bite if given the chance. Who knows….maybe they could.

"Some can." Aisling's words were always mindful and unhurried; thought was put into them and you would just have to wait till she was done thinking cause she wasn't going to rush herself, "Some are more….aware than others. Some talk to me or each other–many don't act like life is," she waved a hand at the hazy air, "but some know what's going on. Most, though, meander about as if the world is empty except for them." Aisling's eyes drop to the ground as her voice became a whisper, "...some cry."

The girl shrunk in on herself as a quick wind picked up, sending long dead cinders scattering across the path. It wasn't cold–quite the opposite; the very air itself stuck to Emery's skin with sweat–and there was something to Aisling's movements that concerned them. Looking between the girl and the apparently not so empty space before them, Emery wondered what they could do to help.

There was a long moment of silence before they spoke again, "Do they scare you?"

Do what you always do, they thought to themself, assess, consider, react. It's gotten you this far in life.

Aisling immediately shook her head no but stopped herself with a thoughtful look on her face. It took a few tense moments of thought but eventually she said, in a very small voice, "most don't but some are…" her eyes shadowed, "more….or maybe less? Something in them is hollow or shattered. I don't know how to explain it."

To see Aisling, the girl who could out talk the world, not have the words for something told Emery how horrible the sight must be and a sensation similar to dread settled in their bones like a lead weight dropped into a sea. They had never accepted something as fact as quickly as Aisling's ghosts and it worried them.

"Are they a danger to us? To you?" Emery somehow kept their voice steady as they tried to pick out the monsters this girl saw amongst the gray and browns of their world, visibility down to 50 ft in all directions for now. They knew it was their imagination that spotted shapes in the ashen mist, but that didn't pacify their worry. They couldn't fight what they couldn't perceive–hell they didn't know if they could fight these things at all–but they could get info.

With a shrug and a sigh, Aisling subconsciously leaned towards Emery, as if her mind just wanted to hide, "I don't know. Some of the more aware Shadows can interact with the environment but most just drift. And all the Hallows I've seen haven't been….There." Aisling's next words were into her knees as she drew them up in front of herself and hugged them to her front, "sometimes they look in my direction on accident and it's horrible; like I can hear their torment, the fire that burned their minds. They feel dangerous, but I have no proof."

It broke Emery's heart to see such a small girl try and tuck herself even smaller in fear of this threat that only she could see. They hesitantly lifted their arm as she leaned further, falling softly against their side, bringing it down to circle her thin shoulders. They had never experienced any parental instincts in their 26 years of life but they could probably figure out how to comfort a scared child. After all, they once were one, not that long ago.

"I can't see them…" they started, unsure, but they took a deep, burnt breath and continued, "but I will protect you however I can, all right?"

"Why would you?" Dark eyes finally turned from the outside ash to look at them, wide with a peculiar astonishment–as if she truly wondered why someone would care–and Emery was reminded of how everyone seemed to avoid this girl with her chilling poetic words and biting honesty; had nobody truly tried to care for her beyond food and shelter? "What if you can't?"

How had Emery not noticed? A girl not quite thrown aside but forgotten, ignored, by everyone...and they had let it happen. Everyone had let it happen. Anger at the people they both called a community and, moreover, with themself, filled their veins, warming them in the already hot air. Then and there, Emery made a silent vow in their mind before making it to the girl herself with a determined nod, answering both questions at once.

"Because I can and I will."

Aisling's face told Emery she didn't believe them but she smiled nonetheless, for once looking as young as she truly was, gap toothed and all, before the two of them looked back over her ghosts; one set of eyes darting between them and the other unseeing but now aware.

Focused on what they couldn't see, Emery was not ready for the rest of the conversation.

"I stole a gun."

They had honestly forgotten why they followed her in the first place. Emery knew Aisling had taken it–they had the bruise from Lars to prove it–but it was said with such a casual tone that they choked on their next breath. After coughing to try and clear it–which was difficult with the ash in the air–they turned to the girl.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" Emery struggled to keep their voice down–the ship was only so big and sound traveled–and they glanced over their shoulder for security, "if Lars finds out, he'll throw you off the top of Endeavour, and he's not going to wait for a council."

Aisling blinked at them, "I didn't feel safe with him having it."

Emery opened their mouth to argue but found they couldn't really–Aisling had a very valid point–so they just sighed, "did you at least hide it well? Or throw it off the ship?"

"Of course."

The girl didn't offer up which question she was answering and Emery didn't ask.

They did, however, shake their head in exasperation, "please, promise me you won't do anything like that again."

Their answer was a grin that didn't make them less paranoid but they accepted it anyway. The two of them sat watching the Grey roil for a moment longer before Emery nudged Aisling.

"We really do have to get back inside; this ash isn't healthy to breathe." A moist gurgle cut across the air and Emery looked at their stomach accusingly, "And dinner's nearly ready, I'm sure."

"Oh," Aisling sounded unsure, her breath wavering, "I suppose...yes, we should go back in."

They could see fear creep into her eyes. The fear of continued loneliness–of having experienced compassion and losing it once more–and it tore them apart; nobody should feel that at the mere mention of dinner…

Or ever.

As casually as they could–not wanting to let Aisling think they were pitying her–Emery stood and stretched, working out the kinks in their back from sitting on the hard, rusted metal floor for who knows how long; a long time, if their spine had anything to say. With a satisfied sigh, they reached out a hand to the much smaller girl, who hadn't made a move to get up yet, "Come on, let's go grab us a table before they all fill up."

"Together?" Was their small reply as an even smaller hand placed itself in theirs.

It was far too easy to pull Aisling to her feet–Emery was strong and she was young but it was obvious that no one had cared to make sure Aisling was eating enough–and much harder to close the bulkhead door against the darkening gray wind. But eventually both were accomplished, with only a moderate amount of dirt, ash, and grease mucking up their hands.

Wiping their hands off on their already grubby coveralls, Emery grinned down at the girl, "of course! You have to tell me more about your….Shadows?" At Aisling's nod, they pushed on, beginning to lead the way back down the dark corridor, "I'm interested in learning more…if you're willing to talk about them, that is."

The genuine gratitude that filled Aisling's eyes was almost too much to bear and Emery fought the urge to look away from her intense stare as they felt their cheeks warm at the concentrated attention. A smile leaked onto their lips as she began to talk–less in poetic stanzas and in more of a childlike ramble than normal–and Emery wondered when the last time anyone allowed her to just…gush was. They didn't know children all that well–other than their own experiences as one–but they knew that nobody did well being ignored all the time.

The two of them were late for dinner and thus couldn't find a table, but they squirreled away some food that Missy had set aside for them. The old woman grinned at the two misfits as they took their slightly cold trays and found a spot alone on the abandoned stairs to the deck above; nobody went up there unless they really had to these days. Emery let Aisling talk about whatever she wanted to for the rest of their meal.

"And then one time there was this dog!" Was said with a wildly waving, as if it was the most exciting story...maybe to her it was, "I think it was a dog….I've never seen one before–an alive one that is–but old Missy likes to talk about her animals from Before and I think that was what that was. It was fluffy, whatever it was…anyway–"

Nobody bothered the two of them for a long time; both alone in this crowded ship, but together now, bound by a secret–a ghost story really–and Emery vowed to themself that they wouldn't leave this overly intelligent but odd child to be ignored ever again.

They would rather die than abandon anyone like they were.

And the world took that as a challenge.

#Ashen Poetry #original content #me #writeblr

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