Ash

Ash wiped his tears with his shoulder and continued his work, ignoring the ripples of pain from his right hand. 

The front-of-house was supposed to separate the dishes when they bussed the tables, but the servers dumped everything into the tub.

Time spent sorting dirty dishes was time wasted. Nobody tipped them to sort dirty dishes.

Ash gritted his teeth, slammed the dishwasher shut, and ran the last tray of cups.  His shift ended an hour past close tonight. Finally, he could leave the dish pit. 

He untied his apron and hung it on a wall hook, next to the brooms and dustpans, before putting on his jacket. There was just one more thing to do before he left for home.

After pulling off the glove and unraveling the dissolving paper towels, he shut his eyes and sighed.

The cut was a bit over an inch long in the middle of his palm, not very long, but enough to ruin his entire week.  

He gently washed his hands to rinse off the dark brown flakes, but still managed to reopen the wound accidentally. Ash panicked and sloppily wrapped paper towels around it before shoving his hand into another rubber glove, staining his jacket in his hurry. 

Quickly, he patted himself down with his left hand.

Keys, check! Phone, check! Notebook, check! 

Finally, it was time for him to leave for his apartment. Despite being unsure of what he would do to pass the time at home with his hand like this, he still wanted to get home as soon as possible.

Ash lived a few blocks away and passed by the same businesses every day.

First, a sushi restaurant that was far out of his price range. Colorful pictures of the different rolls lined the shop's large front glass window. The prices weren't listed; that was how he knew that it was expensive.

Next was a greasy pizzeria where the pizza was only edible after half a case of Bud Lite (according to Sebas, Ash wasn’t a drinker). Red, white and green neon lights winked at him as he strolled past the scent of sour pepperoni grease and scorched dough.

And now, he walked by the only bar on this strip. 

At this time, the night was darker than coal. Ash made sure to always walk under the protection of the streetlights that burned all night while skipping the sidewalk cracks. That was just a childhood habit, nothing more, nothing less.

He has never been afraid because the streets lay empty in the light, but tonight, the dim halo of the lamp outlined a shadow as Ash approached.    

The tall shadow was that of a man standing at the door of the Tipping Point bar with a lit cigarette in his mouth and keys in his hand. His dark hair was tied back even though it didn’t look all that long. 

The tattoo that snaked out from the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt and his eyebrow piercing would have sent flares out of Ash’s hands. Regrettably, he didn’t have any. Instead, his hands plunged into his jeans’ pockets, and he sped up his pace.

The door locked with a click, and the man closed his eyes and took a long drag off his cigarette before leaning against the red brick-clad building. He tilted his head back while blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air.

He’d never smoked a cigarette in his life and wasn’t interested in starting anytime soon. His co-workers would always tease him by blowing smoke in his face. Ash held his breath as he drew close to the terrible stranger.

Icy blue eyes that reflected the moon perfectly caught his attention. 

Ash froze and stood there, staring at the man the way he used to stare at the saints on the church's windows. The one they made him visit after dusk over a decade ago. 

He blinked a few times before moving his two feet again, stumbling on a sidewalk crack, skittering noisy pebbles on the concrete.

Ash gulped.

He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head until his chin was an inch above his collarbone. Ash sped up to avoid being swallowed up by the smoke and stranger. 

He was striding now, not caring if he stepped on a sidewalk crack or not. 

“Hey, you there. Stop,” said a deep voice, one that wouldn’t let anything go without a fight, as Ash passed through the puff of smoke.  

He didn’t. 

His heart raced at the smooth baritone sound, and he continued to march forward with his eyes closed.  Suddenly conscious of his appearance, Ash knew that he had to get out of there before the man took notice of the bloodstains.

“Are you deaf? I said stop," their command was twice as loud this time.

Ash yelped. The electric pain arcing from his hand to the rest of his body was too much, and he jerked backward, into the voice he so desperately wanted to avoid.