Something a little different today! As part of The Young Writers Initiative’s summer camp, I wrote a piece on one of my less-developed characters from my WIP, The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, which you can find more information on by looking at my Upcoming Releases page. Today’s spotlight is Asher, the Soulless who lives on my main character’s doorstep. I’m considering turning his story into a novella, so stay tuned for updates on that! But, without further ado, here is the first part of Asher’s story, with some mentions of alcohol abuse, disease, death and homelessness.
Where It All Went Wrong
I’m not great at all this fancy stuff, description and whatnot, and I’m definitely not one of those posh Reaper writers, filling their columns with nice-sounding rubbish. So, I’m going to start at the start, and see where it gets me.
It all started when I was born–no, no, I’m kidding. Life was fine when I was born, and for a while afterwards. Kids have it easy. Everything done for you, food on the table, a warm bed and a tub full of hot water for nothing. Nothing! Guess I had a good run of it too, with my parents being as kind as they were–while they were still with us, I mean. Not many kind people under the ground, but only because it’s difficult to be kind when you can’t do or say anything, and you’re locked away from everyone in a wooden box. Or lead. Or some precious metal, if you’re important.
My parents’ coffins were wooden. Simple things, lowered into the ground without much fanfare. Wicker. Got them, just like it gets everyone else. I was lucky, managed to not get it at all, but that’s on their kindness. Sent me to live with a neighbour, good old Mr. Rosen, as soon as they smelt a whiff of danger. Strange times, those. It was exciting at the time, obviously, with me being… must’ve been a teenager, only early-on, just getting into education and discovering what a bore it all was. I didn’t have a care in the world, before they died.
After, it was a whirlwind that landed me in problem after problem. Mr. Rosen didn’t want me around much longer, but he held on until my education was nearly over, before getting the authorities involved. Guess I was a bit of a handful, staying out late with friends I barely knew, finding abandoned places all over and squatting there like I had no other place to go–fun, at the time. When I went back to those places, looking for an actual shelter, reality hit me in the face. Holes in ceilings, boarded-up windows and doors, warnings and tape, and the damp. Chill spreads quicker than anything else, and it goes a lot quicker when you’re sober and alone.
I got sent to a home for kids without parents, some Reaper-run place. They’ve always got some sort of charity thing going on, but this one seemed a bit abandoned. Peeling paint, two or three kids to a bed and another three on the floor, and the food–it was awful slop. Missed Mr. Rosen like anything, until I got bitter. Brains do that, I guess, change things around to try and make you feel better, only this backfired. Big time. Somehow, I even convinced myself that my parents had died out of spite, and all that anger boiled up into a confused, crazy kid, with no structure and no desire to do any good.
Exams were failed, naturally. That was the least surprising thing I’d ever gone through, sitting in those halls and falling asleep, being prodded awake by well-meaning teachers just to collapse back onto my desk. Complete fails, except in… oh, what was it? Something silly, something meaningless. I remember: Demon & Reaper Studies, written just like that with the swirly thing that means ‘and’. I scraped a pass mark, in the one subject that meant the least.
Trouble followed that, a whole lot of trouble. Got removed from the home when I got too old, and scrounged for a job. Ended up getting scammed on a downpayment for a house, my entire soul for a house which never existed. I found jobs, in places, but they never lasted, and, with my soul gone, it was getting harder to convince people I could be trusted. No one trusts a Soulless. Pair that with the endless tiredness of living without anything inside of you, with your motivation disappearing faster than you can grab it and no prospects, no qualifications, no nothing… it’s all a bit much.
Started begging, even though it killed me. Moved from Quarter to Quarter so no one would remember me, because I couldn’t bear seeing familiar faces. Shame haunted me, until I found a way to get rid of it. Instead of eating, I drank, trying to find the magic of rebellious teenager years again. Didn’t work, of course, but it got me to sleep and kept getting me through the cold nights, and monotonous days. I still tried to get jobs, everywhere from shops to factories, even asked about at the markets to see if anyone needed a farmhand, not that I knew the first thing about farming. Everyone turned me down. I was getting scruffy, and I stank. It was a miserable, never-ending cycle.
Well, until I met Chance, that is.
Oskar Leonard 
The character voice is so distinctive. You go❣️
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