A young boy walked alone somewhere in Ash. He had no destination in mind. He was crying and frightened. He had nowhere to go.

His mind was racing. He kept seeing his mother, screaming and wide-eyed. She was a monster then; a monster wearing his mother’s skin. She scratched at him, scraping his arm in the process. His brother had run away, leaving him alone in the tent. His mother chased his brother, screaming and screaming. Where his brother was now he had no idea, though he had run in the direction of their former home. The two had followed their mother there for a few moons. Unlike his brother, the younger boy waited in the tent for hours until he realized that his family wasn’t coming back. Eventually, he left the spice tent, making his way to the main city. He hid under and around stands until the vendors chased him away like they did with all the street kids. He kept doing that until nightfall.

He tried returning to the tent, but discovered the guards had burned it to the ground. He didn’t know where anyone was. He had nothing on his person. He was scared that he wouldn’t be able to find any water, but he wasn’t thirsty. All the other street kids kept asking for food and water. He was glad he didn’t need that at the moment.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Still, the boy’s stomach was throbbing. His legs felt stiff, and he had an awful headache. The pain was so bad, just as much as his mother’s the days before. He missed his mother. He knew that she would take care of him. She would give him herbs that would take the pain away. He just had to find her.

But when he thought of his mother, he only saw the monster. The gaping mouth and the red eyes.

The boy kept looking for shelter. He just needed to sit down. He didn’t expect to sleep; he often defied his father’s orders for bedtime and stayed awake with his brother as long as he could. They would stay awake and tell stories of monsters and the legendary heroes that defeated him. He thought of Enmerkar, the great warrior that conquered the Seven-Winged Lion with nothing more than a slingshot. Enmerkar fought the Seven-Winged Lion for fifteen moons and he never needed any sleep. The boy didn’t need any either.

There were more guards out than usual, but they always ignored the street kids since they carried lice. The boy figured he had lice too. His body was so itchy and he couldn’t stop scratching. The guards made sure to keep their distance.

The boy carried on, teary-eyed and holding his scratched arm. He’d find his mother soon. It was only a matter of time.