Chapter 1 His Eyes Smell Like Ashes
Volume 1: I Didn’t Know About Angels Until I Met Him
In that beautiful place, full of enchanting wildlife, at the foot of the oldest lake in the region, the hands of the clock do their job while the wind dances with that dry leaf resting on a mahogany oak box, as perfect and smooth as a closed piano that, unintentionally, struck its final key. The crowd sobbed, murmured near my ears, my downcast, tired, destroyed eyes looked at the white lily I held in my withered hands. The birds whistled, a whistle so strong it entered my head and made my heart race. I let go of the lily, threw it, and my hand touched my chest as my dry lips parted and through my teeth, I said—“Death has fallen in love with you. I watched you near her many times, and through a tiny crack I saw you dance with her at the edge of the abyss. You danced so wildly that in the blink of an eye, your soul vanished and your body shattered. I hope you fly high and never fall again.”
I wiped my tears once more, and just as I was about to leave, I saw someone in the shadows, staring at me. I couldn’t hold the gaze and lowered my head, but stares weigh too much—and his piercing eyes, even more. I slowly lifted my head, but he was gone. The crowd blocked my view and just like that, he vanished. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to approach the coffin. Slowly, I leaned in to look through the small glass. When I saw inside, my expression changed drastically. My mouth trembled, and once again, I broke into tears.
Three Weeks Earlier
The sky seemed like it was going to fall, break into a thousand pieces. Thunder and lightning frightened the citizens. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and placed the hood of my coat over my head. Same as always, looking down until I got home. But something caught my eye: a small shop window directly in front of me. I was hypnotized by a yellow sweater displayed there. This autumn-winter season was perfect for indulging myself. As I crossed the street, the light blinked red—no cars were coming, which gave me the confidence to go. But suddenly, a loud screech startled me. A black car came to a hard stop just before hitting me.
“Don’t you see it’s red?!” the driver shouted furiously.
“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t see…” I stammered, heart racing.
“Idiot,” he muttered as he sped off down the road and out of sight.
After a deep breath, I kept walking. I glanced at the sweater in the display for a few seconds. A half-smile and a bit of excitement surfaced before I walked into the shop.
“Nice price,” I said, eyeing the tag. A reflection appeared on the glass—a person behind me, standing on the same sidewalk I’d crossed from, watching me. I turned my head quickly, but no one was there. I had a slight déjà vu, as if I’d been there before. The bell above the door rang as someone opened it, so I ran and stopped it with my foot before it could close.
“Excuse me, can I come in?” I asked the shopkeeper politely.
“Sorry, young man, we’re closing,” she replied indifferently.
“Please! I just want to buy one item. Let me in—it’ll only take five minutes,” I pleaded.
“God! No sales all day and now someone shows up as I’m closing. Fine! Come in,” she said.
I stepped into the shop. It was a bit peculiar—tense and heavy. Books everywhere, bizarre sculptures, and some creepy antiques. As I walked toward the counter, I felt the old wooden floor creaking beneath my feet. The woman watched me and asked:
“Alright, what do you want?” she said arrogantly.
“Um… that sweater over there. The yellow one, $7.99,” I replied, pointing at the display.
“That one? Sorry, it’s not for sale,” the insufferable old woman said as she counted money at the register.
“What? But…”
“Listen, kid, it’s not for sale. It’s just for decoration—to attract customers with the color. That’s it,” she said, eyes downcast.
Seeing my dissatisfaction, she added:
“It’s not for sale, but…”
That “but” was music to my ears. Apparently, I was going to get that sweater after all.
“But… you’ll have to buy a Fortune Box to get it,” she said, adjusting her glasses.
“Fine. How much is a box?” I asked, a bit desperate.
“$17.99,” she said—unbelievable.
“What?! But that’s not worth eighteen dollars, ma’am,” I said, annoyed.
“Take it or leave it,” she snapped.
I pulled some bills and coins from my pocket and placed them on the counter. She approached with the sweater, packed it, and handed it to me in a bag, along with the fortune box.
“Here’s your purchase!” she said.
“Thanks. I’m going to wear it soon—the weather demands it, and so does the color,” I said excitedly.
She looked me up and down, intimidating me with her wrinkled face and muttered, “If you choose to wear it… let it be because you’re no longer afraid of what you might take with you,” she said.
I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I didn’t think much of it.
I grabbed my shopping bag and left. As I stepped out, a few raindrops began to fall on my shoulders. The wind stung my eyes, and in the distance, I saw a storm approaching. When I looked again—she was gone, vanished. I ran down the street, not wanting the rain to catch me. I turned into the alley—it was a shortcut that brought me closer to home. The downpour chased me, but I made it inside. I looked out the window—it was raining hard, the thunder echoing persistently.
“Thank God,” I said as I took off my shoes and got comfortable. I hung my coat behind the door on a small hook. As I walked through the hallways, I saw the lightning through the window. I went straight to my room, placed my purchase on the bed, and headed to the shower. I turned on the tap and checked the water with my hand.
“Ouch, it’s hot!” I said.
I took off the rest of my clothes and stepped under that endless cascade. It felt perfect. The water ran down my body, cleansing every corner—every mess, every sorrow. One hand washed my face while the other gripped the sponge, scrubbing my chest, so small for such a big heart. I moved the sponge down my abdomen, rubbing gently. I wanted to go lower this time. Only with the palm of my hand, each fingertip brushing against my flaccid member, I moved closer to the wall. The hand that had been washing my face now rested on it, while the other… the other kept massaging my most blessed, purest, most untouched area. In my mind, imaginary things my subconscious created, thoughts I longed for every day…
Someone was approaching me, bringing their mouth close to my neck and smelling it gently—Ahhh—I MOANED.
His huge hand on my neck and light kisses on my cheek traced a pleasurable path toward my mouth. My member was no longer limp; now it stood firm and shameless as I stroked it skillfully. I imagined again, felt his scent, so powerful, so strong—Mmmm—moans escaped me as I felt him in my mind. My legs trembled, my back arched against the wall, and his breath drilling into my head along with the brush of his nearly naked body against mine caused intense spasms and continuous ejaculations. I opened my eyes, leaned back, and let the water carry my anxious fluids down the drain.
“When will this stop?” I said between sighs and whimpers.
As I dried my skin, I heard a loud crash coming from my room. I rushed out, soaking the floor, and when I got there—nothing. Probably just thunder from the storm making all that noise. I grabbed the shopping bag, and just as I was about to take things out—Boom—
A huge scare made me spin toward the window and drop the bag when I saw the dove that had hit the glass. “So it was you?” I said as I approached.
The street I could see was deserted. Everyone was inside their homes—laughing, playing, talking with their families. The thunder echoed through mine, leaving a deep resonance of loneliness. I knelt on the floor and picked up the bag, pulled out the sweater and smelled it—brand new, that fresh fabric scent was phenomenal. I opened a drawer in my closet, and just before putting it away, I saw some dusty envelopes. “What’s this?” I said, setting the sweater aside and taking one envelope.
I brushed off the dust, and in red cursive ink, I read—To my dear son—
My eyes welled up with tears as I sat on the bed to read it. Yes, it was a letter from my mother.
“Dear son, today is your twenty-fourth birthday. I can’t be there with you, but I want you to know I always carry you in my thoughts. I miss your letters. I’ve forgotten your handwriting, your perfect lines, and your extraordinary reflections. You went from sending me hundreds of letters to none. Your father says you’ve grown too much. You have no idea how much I wish I could visit you, tell you how I’ve been, and hear one of your life stories. I’m sure you have one—you’re young. I know you hold some resentment toward me for leaving home and staying with your father, but I had to chase a dream, and even though it’s hard to reach, I won’t give up. One day you’ll understand me. We’ll be together soon. Love you with all my life,
Mom.”
I wiped my tears and put it away, trying to bury the pain. I got dressed, and of course, the sweater was a must. Just as I was finishing, I heard the front door swing open. My expression changed instantly, I rolled my eyes, and I heard—
“Zayden!”
“Zayden! I need you to come down!” my father shouted.
I came downstairs and walked to the front yard. “What is it, Dad?” I asked.
“I need your help unloading some things from the car right now. It’s on the road, and it can’t stay parked there,” he said in a rush.
We went to the trunk and carried a bunch of heavy boxes. “What do you have in here?” I asked, straining under the weight.
“Just some work tools, son. Be careful with the last box—it has glass bottles. Be careful,” he said.
After all the heavy boxes, only the last, most fragile one remained. I took off my sweater, the heat was intense and my skin was sweating. I handed the sweater to my father to hold, grabbed the box—and just as I held it in my arms, the bottom gave out and a bottle fell to the ground. “Shit,” I said, looking at my father with guilt.
The bottle hit the ground but didn’t break—it just rolled into the middle of the street. “Wow, lucky you,” my father said, laughing.
I laughed, and he went to pick it up. He held it in his hands, and before he could walk back to me, I felt a strange sensation—thick air and a familiar presence across the street. My breath caught as I saw the car speeding toward my father—“Dad!” I screamed, watching as that car ran him over.
Time completely stopped. That car never braked. It left my father lying on the road like garbage. He was writhing in pain, fighting with his soul to keep it from leaving his body. I didn’t know what to do. The street was empty—there was no one to call for help.
I dropped the box, shattering every bottle inside, and ran to him. While I screamed and asked him how he was, I saw a shadow behind me. My skin crawled, and I turned my head. When I looked—I saw him.
I saw a boy approaching to help me. He had a cold stare and piercing eyes—eyes that smell like ashes…
