Fiction piece I wrote a year or so ago, before I learned so much! I may continue the story but I'm not sure where it'll go

My name is Lana. I destroyed the world.

I stand amidst the falling white grey ash falling around me. I am tempted to brush it away as it gathers on my skin, a reminder of what it was. I resist the urge, instead welcoming it, a prize for my accomplishment.

Flakes create fog around me, cascading in a blurry haze. I walk away from the still smoldering ruin that was a city, the heat of it stroking my back looking for comfort, for a reason why.

Maybe I regret it. Maybe none of it was deserved. Still I walk slowly into a cloud of soft destruction. My hands now empty, like my heart.

I was once happy. I thought I had everything I needed and that I could love the world with all my heart. I was betrayed. In return I ruined everything. What holds more power than a broken soul? All the energy of my broken self released into chaos and torment. Revenge.

I stop when I hear a voice. A figure is running toward me, from the piles of ash and stone.

“Hey!” the voice grows louder, rougher, angrier.

I turn and run. There shouldn’t be anyone left. How could there be?

“Wait, stop running!” A man.

I hear his heavy footsteps gaining on me. Fear pumps through my veins for the first time in over a year. A hand grabs my arm. I try to yank it free but it only grips harder causing me to lose balance. I tumble to the ground.

I yell as I awkwardly hit my left hip. The man falls on top of me, his elbow digging into my ribs pushing air out of my lungs and bruising my side. “Ughh,” I groan.

“Shit.” He doesn’t move so I have to shove him off. I stand quickly, blood rushes to my head but I refuse to wobble or fall again. He grabs me, pulling me down. I give up, there’s nothing to lose anyway.

“What happened?” He says.

What? He doesn’t know? He doesn’t know I did this…How could he?

To him I’m another survivor.

As the ash continues to fall, coating my throat again, making it hard to swallow, to breathe, I start to cry. I did this. I ruined it all. Selfish, greedy, hurt. I have nothing left. Nothing except this man, a man who will surely kill me once he finds out I did this.

I cry. On my hands and knees at the end of the world, with ash coating the entire inside of my being, breathing in the particles of everyone that just died, becoming one with the world. I sob for everything did and lost.

The man mistakes my pain and crying for grief, for the loss of our world. He hugs me without question and I sink into his arms, grateful. Still I am selfish.

© Ash Huntley

Yukaton River: Edit

Name: Yukaton River.

Commonly known as: Ash River or The Dead River.

History: Hundreds of years ago the largest town of the area, Rim, lived along off Yukaton River's widest point.  Mysteriously, and suddenly, the town burned to the ground. It is said cracking and popping of fire and the screams of the inhabitants could be heard on any given June 13th at 11:15 PM.

Legend: Ashes of the people mixed with ashes of the town blew into the river. Blackened and thick, heavy with the ash of the dead, the river slowed until finally it stopped. With the river filled and stilled, trees and plants withered and died, and animals fled. Soon after, everything grew back tenfold. Lush and deep green, the trees grew tall, leaned in, and created a dense canopy over the river.

Today it is eerily clear and deadly still. Yet if you set a boat upon its surface, it will move south at a quick pace, as if a strong current had taken hold. It is believed spirits of the dead protect those who travel upon the river. But if they disembark before the river reaches its destination at Tamishi Sea, great bad luck will befall them. They will not survive their next 48 hours.

Pen (whose name is Penelope but finds it cumbersome, shortens it as much as possible, and does the same to others) and Timothy (whose name Pen actually likes and only calls him Tim on occasion) go to the ruins of Rim on June 13th. They arrive precisely at 11:15 PM. 

Pen and Tim hear strange howls and creaks from the large trees settling with the wind.

Natives help the pair lower a large, fully packed canoe that sleeps two, into Ash River. Luggage piled high, the boat sits deep. They rest at midnight.

The canoe, The Blessed Express, is named to give safe voyage to those aboard and thanks to the blessed spirits who guard the river. The nearby town nicknamed the boat Be in reference to the Beatles song Let it Be. 

The town doesn’t have much in the way of modern technology, only what visitors give them. One of their most prized possessions was a gift from a set of sisters who traveled there many years ago; a record player. Though they don't much, they dance and sing. They especially love vinyls of The Beatles, as there is an abundance of their music. They have a fascination with the western world and often consider it to be a place of fantasy. They frequently put on small plays with rag dolls accompanied with tunes of Hey Jude and Paperback Writer to depict the strange magical realm they imagine.

The following morning the entire town congregates, blesses, and stocks The Blessed Express with their food, love, and prayer. They hide painted beads of glass and clay, dried plants, and purple flowers among the couple’s luggage and within the cracks of the boat's panels.

A grand farewell party takes place.

© Ash Huntley