Ash to the Bone Episode 1: Deep Ellum

By H. Ramirez

Ash To The Bone is a story about a girl named Ash who is all alone in this big, bad world...The world better be on guard. Ash’s parents are...problematic. But she refuses to let them be her problem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Ramirez
• Release date: Mar 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005427863

H. Ramirez

I’ve never written a book before and had no idea what i was doing, but i had a lot of fun doing it!

Book preview

Contents

PART ONE: ARGUMENTS IN THE ALTERNATIVE

CHAPTR 1: FORMULA 1

CHAPTR 2: ENTER THE DRAGON

CHAPTR 3: LOST IN TRANSLATION

CHAPTR 4: LET FREEDOM RING

CHAPTR 5: PYROMANTIC

CHAPTR 6: DOMESTIC AND A BROAD

CHAPTR 7: SUGGESTION BOXED

CHAPTR 8: HOSTESS WITH THE MOSTESS

CHAPTR 9: SPOIL HER ALERT!

CHAPTR 10: BRITISH INVASION

CHAPTR 11: DEVIL WITH A BLUE DRESS

CHAPTR 12: SHUT UP AND DRIBBLE

PART TWO: QUARAN-TEEN

CHAPTR 13: STRETCH LIMO

CHAPTR 14: FREAK-A-ZOID

CHAPTR 15: GIRL-ON-GIRL ACTION

CHAPTR 16: LET BI-GONES BE BYE-GONES

CHAPTR 17: STATE OF CHALK

CHAPTR 18: DAMAGE / CONTROL

CHAPTR 19: HOOK. LINE. AND SINK HER.

CHAPTR 20: BULLETPROOF

CHAPTR 21: MORE THAN A WOMAN

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PART ONE

ARGUMENTS IN THE ALTERNATIVE

CHAPTER 1

FORMULA 1

Holy blow-up dolls! Holy blow-up dolls! Holy blow-up dolls!

That’s not a curse, I’m cursing. And I’m hyperventilating. No one is supposed to be here! What are THEY doing HERE! They being Julia and Ben. Here being the theatre arts department of the high school I attend, of which I am the Sounds Production Manager for any and all live performances and rehearsals.

Please do not be intimidated by the official-sounding title. I assure you it’s not nearly as productive or managerial as it sounds…but it sounds good. In fact, I’m pretty sure I made that title up myself. But I’m not a drama-geek. Ok, yeah, I’m a drama-geek. I just prefer it behind the scenes. The spotlight is not my scene. Mostly I just stay late and help put stuff up after rehearsals.

By the way, I being Asher Ash Bays. That’s who I be. And right now I be crouched down, hiding, like a ninja in stealth mode inside a cramped equipment closet with a damn cramp in my left calf. Why, you ask? Well, it’s probably because I didn’t have time to  stretch properly (or at all, for that matter) before having to run as quickly as I could and jump in this closet so that I could hide. And WHY would I want to do that, you wonder? What is my dilemma? Well, I’m getting to that…

I usually always stay late after rehearsals to put everything away. Then I stay even later than that. Like it’s late enough for everyone to be gone by now. That late. Then I have my me time, which consists of me dressing up as the lead character in the play. The lead MALE character in the play. And I recite his lines. That’s not weird. Yeah - that’s weird.

So you understand my cause for alarm when I heard some voices coming from out in the hallway, which was supposed to be a deserted and barren wasteland, approaching me. Alarm, not panic…Never let them see you sweat. Glisten, yes. Perspire, no. No way was I about to let anyone catch me in this get up—You can effing NO that! I’d rather skin down like Sharon Stone than let anyone see me like this. So here I crouch and pray that I’m not discovered. Hiding in the closet while in reverse drag. Have fun with that one. From drama geek to drag geek…drama queen indeed. I’m not even IN the damn play! Can you relate?

Sure enough, the voices made their way into the room. But they were too busy to be the least bit worried about me. They had other priorities: gettin’ busy. Apparently Julia and Ben were also aware that this area is SUPPOSED to be cleared out and available at this time and took it upon themselves to utilize it for some extra curricular activities. A little over—and under—achieving indeed.

Cracking the closet door, I peered out at my peers (of course, I like to think of myself as peer-less) and ew! Less than twenty feet away from me are two teenagers with raging hormones getting it on like—well, two teenagers with raging hormones. No hyperbole is necessary. Just a (like my friends in the south like to say) solid, concrete, scientific empirical observation…y’all.

By the way, not ew! because I’m a fourteen year-old girl who thinks sex is gross—I don’t. Also not ew! because I think either of them is particularly gross—I don’t. They’re not. The boy, Ben, is ok. Certainly nothing to write a story about. And Julia is cute. Actually she’s more than cute. She’s what’s-she-doing-with him?-cute.

On the cool, he’s pretty not bad. But he’s a loser. You know the type: always getting in trouble and fighting; no drive or sense of direction and defiant to authority. Plus he sleeps around. And not just casually, either. But like he’s found his purpose in life. And running through any and every girl that will let him is that purpose. Forget one-track mind, Ben acts like he was genetically engineered to jump out of his jeans and into the nearest willing and able body. It’s like he’s on a freaking mission. Literally. The boy has more confirmed kills than SEAL Team 6. Figuratively.

Please settle down, people. It’s just a figure of speech, a metaphor for how many girls he’s rumored to have had sex with. Like notches on his belt, and so forth.

I just had to clear that up because there are those in this irrationally politically correct society whose sensibilities are about as delicate and fragile as some self-harming, pregnant, thirteen year-old, broken emo, goth chick who’s in rehab for substance abuse and bulimia and is contemplating suicide…again. Beyond sensitive.

So while I don’t necessarily cut for this boy—I get it.

Oh, if you get triggered any time someone even alludes to a mechanism that has a trigger, then I’m your girl. Because I pop off like an emotional sniper with a hair trigger aiming for your mullet. So wear a helmet when you bang it, man, and guard your brain…’cause the flow is spasmatic, what they call insane, I’m bound to hurt some feelings. Buckle up, snowflakes, and go find your little safe space! Pure as the driven snow indeed. That’s proof-positive. But I myself am sniper-proof, of course. And fool-proof because I stay sucker-free. I’m consistent, see? With accuracy and frequency.

Speaking of freaks…Ben. I can see how some girls would go for the type and find him appealing, especially given his reputation/history/track record. It’s no secret girls are just as obsessed with sex as boys are, if not more. If that’s possible. It’s just that most boys are too nervous and scared of their own shadow, not to mention rejection, to find out first hand. I’m going to leave that one A-lone.

Not Ben, though. He’s got quite a resume, yes indeedy I wrote graffiti on the bus. I actually didn’t. So while most boys are on the Pharcyde of that thing that makes the world go round, Ben definitely has his finger on the pulse of teenage sex, I’d say. He’s ahead of the curve cause he’s got nerve. I’ll give him that. It’s like he’s got a keen and advanced awareness and comprehension of all things concerning the teenage libido. And it would appear that he’s determined to exploit that knowledge and make the absolute most of it. Get it while the gettin’ is good, so to speak. That or he’s just a horny toad. Or both. I’m leaning towards both: he’s certified.

Julia and I are not friends by any stretch of the imagination…but we’re cool. We’re lab partners in chemistry. Along with being very attractive, I’ve also always considered her to be quite intelligent. Certainly she’s smart enough to see through this boy and recognize that he’s only out for one thing, regardless of what flava it comes in. I mean, after all, it is ADVANCED chemistry class. But who’s to say she doesn’t recognize? The chemicals between us indeed.

I understand that opposites attract. I get that. But he’s a loser and she’s not.

He’s never even tried to shoot at me. Most likely (accurately) assuming that I would have most likely dismissed him on principle alone. Most likely.

I have a confession to make. He did capture my attention once. Once. And it was very briefly. We’ve never even spoken. But we were in algebra together last year and one day the teacher had told him to pay attention because Ben had obviously drifted off into some faraway land as he was staring out the window, daydreaming. Ben, returning from his alternate reality, looked at the teacher, threw up his middle finger and said Here—count THIS!

Ben then stood up and threw his text book across the room at the window, grabbed his backpack and just left. Differential equation indeed. Beyond unfreaking real.

My first thought was: what am I having for lunch? My next thought after that, but was my first thought regarding Ben was: Interesting.

I didn’t see him again after that for the rest of the school year. Rumor had it he was suspended and had to attend an alternative school. Which sounds cool and exotic in the same way that Rio does…I’m sure it’s fun to visit, but I wouldn’t want to be enrolled there.

Also, I remember thinking how it would have been better (in fact, twice as much) if he’d shot the teacher BOTH birds and said: YOU do the math!

It’s what I would have said if I were the one with no emotional regulation. That boy is as unstable as a bowl of enriched uranium in