It Was of Ash

Ch. 8: Imaginary.

I smoothed my school polo, Clearwater was written in cursive proudly on my right breast. My plaid skirt was uncomfortable, just like my black penny loafers. My hair was curled slightly and I wore white knee socks. I hated all of this; I looked like a complete idiot. “You look great!” Dr. Williams smiled at me, clapping his hands together happily.

“I feel…like an idiot.” I said, my voice was like a robot, very emotionless.

“What have I told you about feeling?” Dr. Williams looked at me angrily.

I hung my head, “It’s weak and foolish, I’m sorry.” I mumbled.

“That ‘a girl. Now, when you get to The Garden and enter Clearwater, feel it up. This is the only time you can feel, act human. Act as human as you possibly can.” He told me.

“What am I even doing?” I mumbled.

“I’ll tell you later. You’ll meet a boy named Carl Ren, befriend him. Get as close to him as you possibly can by all means necessary.” Dr. Williams said as he pushed me to the door. He turned me around and looked me in my eyes; his eyes were a dark brown, almost as brown as his hair. “Don’t disappoint me or I’ll melt you.” He said softly as if it’d make me feel better. I nodded and turned to the door, I put on my gas mask and the door opened. I walked onto the ashy dirt and observed the van in front of me. It was a white van, both of its back doors opened and ready for me to step into. The inside was bare, the windows tinted so no one could see inside. It wasn’t safe inside, but the outside was made to look like I was safe. I stepped into the back of the van and Dr. Williams smiled at me from behind his gas mask, “Good luck, Cassandra.” He chuckled as he closed the doors. There was a snick, he locked me in. He was smart.

I turned and looked at the man driving me; his gas mask was tight on his face, almost as if it was fused to him. I never spoke to him, yet I tried to think of what our conversation would be if it had occurred.

“Hello, I’m Mimra. What’s your name?”

“Oh I’m Bob. How are you, Mimra?”

“I’m pretty good, thanks Bob. What’s your favorite color?”

“I like green.”

“I like red.”

“What kind of red?”

“Bright red, like…what were those big red things…”

“Fire engine red?”

“Yes! That!”

“You’re really interesting, Mimra. Let’s be friends.”

“Really, no fooling?”

“Yes.”

“Wow!”

“Let’s forget this mission and just go get some ice cream.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

I smiled thinking about it, yet it never actually happened. I sat in the back of that van, in the middle of the floor, alone and just a tad chilly. The man never spoke; I never tried to initiate conversation. I just imagined what it’d be like to talk to him. Maybe he was nice, maybe he had kids. Maybe he was a serial killer and a rapist, I’d never know. He just drove me from Dragon Alley to The Garden.

What I did know about this man was that he took very sharp turns; I’d tumble out of my sitting position and around the carriage of the van, hitting my head on the sides and denting them, hitting my shoulders and knees so bad I thought they dislocated. When the van finally managed to be heading on a solid, straight path I’d hit the floor again and lay there, not getting up until I deemed myself well enough to. This is what I didn’t like about this man, I did like that his favorite color could possibly by green.