Dead Men Tell Many Tales...

Have you ever felt pain? I don't know you, but I do know pain, and my best guess is that you haven't. Consider yourself blessed by all the gods in heaven and hell if you die without ever experiencing pain. Pain isn't cool, or anything that you can boast about. It's not like breaking a leg, and being able to say "Yo, look at me! I'm SO cool, I broke a leg!" Pain is an evil king. The ruler of the worst dystopian place that exists. The face of your worst nightmares. 

What's the one thing those scenarios I listed above have in common? You simply cannot run away from them. There is no rebelling. He will catch you if it takes him a trillion years. And when he does, he's going to dunk your head in water colder than ice, giving you a sick smile as the last of your breath fades away under his claws. Then spit in your face after you're a lifeless dead nymph. It's an all-consuming, endless vortex that spirals out of existence and has only one-way tickets to hell. 

  Maybe even pain isn't strong enough to describe what I felt when I lost my poor little Asher. A normal January 27th - a cold, miserable, lifeless, unexciting winter morning. I still regret to this day not dropping Ash at school myself. A selfish little high schooler, couldn't think of putting a toe outside, even for her little brother's life. I had a cold, at that time, and was lounging on the sofa, holding a mug of steaming hot chocolate. I remember idly staring with a small smile on my face at the frosted vehicles passing our French windows. "Too bad having to be out in this weather!" I thought. I wish I could slap the smug smile off the face of 16-year-old me, but, too late. There was nothing to do, other than to make myself another cup, lounge, scroll through social media aimlessly for a while, watch the snowflakes cover the winter-wonderland street, and repeat.  

 That oh-so-beautiful utopia of teenage laziness was broken forever when Officer Darlson came a-knocking on our door. My world fell head-over-heels, The guy simply came to our door and said "Miss and Mrs.Winston, I'm very sorry. There's no right way to say this, but, Asher is gone. This is all there is left." And he handed us Ashy's water bottle. Ashy had drowned. He'd run off in the playground, gotten stuck on thin ice, fallen through, and drowned.

Oh, Ashy, oh Ashy! His hazel eyes plagued me, day and night. So, I put up a picture of his eyes on my door, so it would be the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning. His unique, special, hazel, impossible eyes. If you can't overcome something, play along with it. Since I couldn't forget those ocean eyes of his, I played along and made myself see his eyes, to remember. My therapist, Dr. Awlen, said it was a good technique. It hurt for a while, but, soon you'll see it brings back happy memories and not bad ones. 

  Asher was an 8-year-old, happy-go-lucky sort. But, time heals the deepest wounds, and soon, Asher's stab healed. I could never forget my little boy, but the immediate, overcoming pain faded. I didn't have nightmares about him anymore. I started to slowly become a civilized being again, able to graduate and get a job, to care for myself independently.

 Flashforward 8 years into the future! I'm 24 now, settled in my old nest with a loving Ma and Papa. There's Mia, Ameira, Kim and Peyton, my girls, and my darling Justin. Today, I'm off to buy a bouquet for Mia, who's just had her baby girl. But, I stop dead in my tracks. There's a boy. He's got Ashy's lush and thick scarlet waves. The scar on his eyebrows that he got when he cut himself with scissors as a baby. The Roman nose that contrasts perfectly with his thin lips. And… that smile… Ashy's grin, gosh, I could never forget that smirk-like, innocent grin. And he looks 16. This boy looks just what Ashy would look like if he was 16.

 There he is, leaning against Mrs.Emelle's flower stand like it's the most normal and usual thing for him to do. Grinning. Gosh, is he teasing me, playing hard-to-get? All I want to do is throw my arms around his neck, ruffle his hair, and kiss him on that little nose for all the times I've missed. Ashy! My Ashy's back! There's simply no way to describe this feeling of ecstasy. 

 Where have you been? What happened when you fell through the ice? Who found you? Were you treated well? Did they hurt you? Oh no, please don't say they were evil! Did they love and care for you? Could-could you eat pizza, celebrate your birthday? W-w-wait, it's been 6 years, do you even recognize me? Do you remember Mum, Dad, and me? Did the ice water do something and give you amnesia?! A million questions run through my head. One by one. 

` My boy came up to me and stuck out his hand. Ever the gentleman! Same lad as 8 years ago! These things you don't grow out of!

 "Hi! I'm new to town. It's Connor Woodrow, your new neighbor. You must be Ms.Winston, I've seen you sitting on your porch. Do I look like someone else to you? This stare is the one Mum gave when she saw my twin brother. I hear your family's lost a young lad, right? 8 years ago? Must be some sort of coincidence, Ms.Winston. 8 years ago, we found my brother, half-dead. Slipped under the ice. Mum nearly had a heart attack when she saw the lad. Knew it was her boy when she saw him. He was kidnapped when he was a baby.  Fiddlesticks, speak of the devil! Meet my twin brother, Asher! The twin brother we found under the ice? Yes, this is him, come meet Ms.Winston, Ashy!"

 And a second Connor Woodrow appeared from seemingly out of nowhere.