Read From Ashes to Alpha :: warm singing

The street was a narrow, rotting gully of filth, the air thick with the stench of dead fish and decay. My boots squelched in the muck as I adjusted the weight of the three burlap sacks slung over my shoulder.

Blood from the raw wounds on my skin seeped into my already soaked work shirt. The ground was slick, and for a moment, my footing faltered.

I gritted my teeth, shifted my weight, and barely managed to stay upright.

"Move it, you worthless mutt!" The voice was a guttural snarl, cutting through the humid air like a rusty blade.

I glanced over my shoulder to see the boss, a man with a face like a slab of raw meat, his beady eyes narrowed in contempt. "You’re slower than a crippled dog. What’s the matter, James? Can’t handle a little work?"

I clenched my jaw, the sharp edge of the steel plate in the sack digging into my ribs. It felt like a noose tightening, a constant reminder of my place in this hellhole.

One day, I thought, my chest burning with a quiet rage, one day, I’ll make you choke on your own words. You’ll feel what it’s like to crawl in the dirt.

"Don’t just stand there gawking!" he barked, spittle flying from his lips. "Get those sacks to the cart, or you’ll be working double shifts for the next month!"

I forced a nod, my voice low and steady. "Yes, sir."

He sneered, his fat fingers drumming against his belt. "That’s what I thought. Now move!"

I turned back to the path, my muscles screaming with every step. The sacks felt heavier with each passing second, but I refused to let them drag me down.

The air was thick with the smell of rot, and the sound of distant waves crashing against the docks was a dull roar in my ears.

My mind wandered, though, despite the pain. I imagined the day I’d walk away from this place, the day I’d see that bastard’s face when he realized I was no longer under his thumb.

"Watch where you’re going, idiot!" A voice snapped me back to reality. I looked up to see one of the other workers, a wiry man with a perpetual scowl, glaring at me. "You nearly knocked me over!"

"Sorry," I muttered, sidestepping him. My voice was calm, but my fists clenched at my sides. Just keep moving, I told myself. Just keep moving.

The cart was finally in sight, its rusted metal frame barely holding together. I dropped the sacks with a grunt, the sound of their impact drowned out by the boss’s voice once more. "About damn time! You think I pay you to drag your feet?"

I straightened, my back aching, and met his gaze. "No, sir."

He stepped closer, his breath reeking of cheap whiskey. "Then act like it. There’s more to haul, and you’re not done until I say you are."

"Yes, sir," I repeated, my voice steady despite the fire in my chest. As I turned to head back, I caught a glimpse of the horizon—the faintest hint of orange breaking through the gray clouds.

One day, I thought again, one day, this will all be behind me.

The tin shack groaned under the relentless assault of the storm outside. Rainwater seeped through the rusted ceiling, tracing crimson veins that mirrored the jagged wound on my shoulder.

I winced as the alcohol-soaked cotton grazed my torn flesh, the sting barely registering over the ache in my bones.

"Another day of breaking my back," I muttered, my voice barely audible over the drumming rain. "And for what? Just to scrape by. Tomorrow, it’s the same damn grind. Same damn fight."

"Is this it, James?" I whispered to the empty room. "Is this all there is?"

The shack creaked again, the wind howling like a wounded animal.

"Damn it," I growled, slamming my fist against the rickety table.

I leaned back, the wooden chair protesting under my weight. My shoulder throbbed, a constant reminder of the life I was trapped in.

The rain outside was relentless, a symphony of chaos that matched the storm inside me.

"Mia," I murmured, my voice breaking. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

The shack groaned again, the walls trembling as if they might collapse under the weight of my despair. I closed my eyes, the sound of the rain blending with the memory of her voice.

But there were no answers, only the cold, unyielding truth of the life I was living.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow would be no different.

The rain hammered against the tin roof like a thousand tiny drums, each drop a reminder of the storm outside.

The wind howled through the cracks in the walls, making the entire structure shudder. I sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, the only piece of furniture in this leaky shack, besides the rickety bed in the corner.

The cold air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere, lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts.

A soft knock broke through the chaos of the storm. I frowned, glancing at the door. Who would be out in this weather? I stood, my boots scraping against the uneven floor, and opened the door.

"Mia?" I blinked, surprised to see her standing there, soaked to the bone.

Her dark hair clung to her face, and her clothes were drenched, but she smiled at me, her eyes bright despite the storm.

"James," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I stepped aside, letting her in. The warmth of her presence immediately filled the room, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones. "What are you doing out here? It's a mess out there."

"I wanted to see you," she said simply, shaking the water from her hair. She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on the sparse furnishings. "This place... it's not much, is it?"

"It’s enough," I replied, though the words felt hollow even to me. "For now."

Mia turned to me, her eyes searching mine. "You don’t have to pretend with me, James. I know it’s hard. But you’re not alone, okay?"

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I looked away, unable to hold her gaze. "I know. It’s just... sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and there’s no one to pull me out."

Mia stepped closer, her hand reaching for mine. Her touch was warm, grounding. "You’re not drowning, James. And even if you were, I’d be there to pull you out. Always."

I looked down at our intertwined hands, the simple gesture filling me with a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in weeks. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the storm.

Mia smiled, squeezing my hand gently. "I have something for you," she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "I wrote a song. I’ve been working on it for a while, and... I wanted you to be the first to hear it."

"A song?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You’ve been holding out on me, Mia."

She laughed, the sound like music in the small, dreary room. "I wanted it to be perfect. And... I think it’s ready now."

She took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment as she centered herself. Then she began to sing, her voice soft but filled with emotion.

"In the forest forgotten by time,

We were each other’s solace, your hand in mine.

Beneath the moonlight, our laughter would soar,

Now echoes of dreams, forevermore.

But if the path ahead is dark and unkind,

I’ll hold your hand, through the storm we’ll find..."

Her voice trailed off, the last note hanging in the air like a whisper. I stood there, stunned, the words sinking deep into my soul. The room felt warmer, the storm outside fading into the background.

"Mia..." I began, my voice thick with emotion. "That was... beautiful."

She smiled, her cheeks flushing with color. "I wrote it for you, James. For us. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here. We’ll face it together."

I pulled her into a tight embrace, her warmth seeping into me, banishing the cold that had clung to me for so long. "Thank you," I whispered into her hair, my voice trembling. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Mia hugged me back, her arms strong and reassuring. "You’ll never have to find out," she said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

The storm outside raged on, but inside that tiny, leaky shack, I felt a sense of peace I hadn’t known in years. With Mia by my side, I knew we could weather any storm. Together.