Well, hello ladies and gentlemen. I am here! This is my first story, so please R and R to help me improve my style.

Ash

In the dream I am being chased by someone I thought I was my friend. In the dream my throat is so dry I can't scream. I burn for water, but I must keep running or HE will catch up with me. In the dream my fingertips are raw and bloody from clawing the looming wall that blocks the rest of the world from this horror in my mind.

It's only a dream. I always wake up.

When I wake up, the straitjacket pins my arms to my chest. A jug of water and a cup is placed neatly by the padded door, and my mouth is dry. I want the water as badly as I did in the dream, but there's only so many things you can do with your feet. Pouring a jug's contents into a glass is not one of them.

I become painfully aware of my surroundings. There are four walls white as snow, a ceiling, and a floor. Presumably I'm on the floor. Already the room is too small for my ever-circling mind. I'm gliding far from here. I can 'escape' to a black place where I'm still walled in and where I still thirst and where someone betrays and chases me.

The nurse comes in, and instantly I have to come back.

“Sleep well?” she asks. I give her a blank stare in response. I haven't been sleeping. I've been going to a black black place... no, she doesn't want to hear that and she is pouring water. She is pouring life into a glass that reflects the fluorescent lights and the white and the life and the water...

I nod my head vigourously, trying to keep a train of thought. It's very important that I behave. She holds life in her hands, and if I can't drink it, I shall surely die of thirst and dryness.

“That's nice to know, Ash. Here. Have a drink.”

Ash. What an awful, dead name. My grandmother has been ash for years now. My mouth feels like it's full of ash, but as she tips the water through my lips, the ash melts away as though it were a dream.

She takes the glass from my lips quietly, and asks, “Would you like to see some people today?”

I shake my head no. People are quite awful to be around here. The doctors seem to wear masks that stretch their lips to impossible leers. They talk to me loudly and slowly as though they were underwater and I couldn't hear them properly. I can understand perfectly. I don't like to listen to the buzzings of the world, that's all.

One day passes, or so they tell me. Days go from breakfast to pill time here. I put the little red pill under my tongue and pretend to fall asleep while they watch.

And then I end up there again. A blood red sun glows on a sky black as sulfur. The city is deserted, and I know it never takes him long to find me. He comes to me swiftly, his eyes blazing and his skin lividly pale. I start to run, but this time I feel as though I were choking on my own lungs. I an barely step a foot, and running is out of the question. I collapse sobbing tears that are acidic and bite away at my skin as they make their trails down my cheeks. He kneels by me, whispering an awful word. An awful name.

“Ash.”

He moans, touching the stinging wounds on my cheek. His fingers become red from the blood. He places the red on my lips, colouring the pale flesh there and stopping my convulsive weeping. He takes his fingers away from my lips and asks, “Do you want to stay?”

“Where?” I have the sense to ask.

“Anywhere,” he shrugs. I shake my head. I completely understand him, even though he speaks in riddles.

“Do you want to go?”

“Where?”

“There.”

I nod. He touches my face, and draws it towards his. I close my eyes expectantly. He kisses me. I taste blood unexpectedly, but I return the kiss. Finally, he breaks away and lets me fade like an old photograph in the light.

Ash.