Excerpt: Ash

He saw the sink and rushed over to it. As he turned the knob for cold water, he hesitated. Part of his mind was screaming at him, telling him he would collapse into a mound of dirty sludge upon coming into contact with water. But he knew he had to be human; He knew for a fact that he was taller, that is, unless humans were around twelve inches tall. He let out a stressful sigh and splashed cold water on his face and neck. It felt good against his hot skin. He looked down at his hands. No sludge. That was good.
It felt odd, looking down at his new pair of fleshy hands. They weren’t fat, but, their tan bronzed complexion still tugged at the back of his mind. Human hands, he thought. With his right hand he reached up and felt his face. It was softer than he remembered, but still sort of rough to the touch. He looked up at the mirror and his eyes widened. Before today, he had never seen a human before, so the girls had been his first glance at their race. But never, ever, ever, had he seen a male human. The only thing that seemed somewhat unchanged about his new appearance was his hair. It was black, with small wisps of it pointing everywhere. His soggy bangs were also wispy and they fell diagonally across his forehead; had they hung straight, they would have hung down way past his eyes. And in the back, the ends of it draped down and around his neck, hiding his ears.
He had a firm jaw line that helped frame a healthy face with a medium sized nose and somewhat high cheek bones. His face was not too thin and not too wide, not too small, or too tall; it was just right, by his estimation. There was a slight shadow under his lower lip, which, along with its partner, was slightly darker than the rest of his skin. His blue eyes were keen, their shape somewhat ovular, their true size sort of unintelligible, as they seemed able to change as the situation demanded. His eyebrows were dark, like his hair, and lightly overshadowed his eyes. There was a slight shadow under his jaw where it met his neck, which was strong and about average size and shape. His neck then met with his smooth, strong collar bones, between which, the gap that sort of hollows out when one swallows, was shadowed by his also shadowed middle-sized Adam’s apple. He looked down at his clothes. Something about them poked at his memory.
The wrinkled and slightly worn material was charcoal-grey and plain. The sleeves of his simple shirt hung down a little past his elbows, his pant-legs down to his ankles. The outfit was really quite ghastly overall, without any decorative markings or pictures whatsoever. Even he thought so, and he hadn’t the slightest notion as to what the humans found fashionable these days, or ever, for that matter. He looked back at himself in the mirror. Something about the wrinkles of his right pants pocket piqued his interest.
Ash felt around in his pocket, not taking his eyes off its reflection in the mirror. His fingers brushed something rough and he pulled it out. Holding it up in front of his face, he studied it closely. It was a piece of paper folded in half, then folded again. He lowered his hand and leaned heavily on the sink, eyes clouded with thought. Something had been knocked loose from his memory – or rather, his lack of said memory.
The grey clothes, the note, falling… He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in furious thought. When he opened them, his attention was somehow drawn to his sleeve. Among the wrinkles formed by the bent position of his arm, near the crease in the fabric representing the inside of his elbow, was a smudge, also grey, but darker. Curiously, he rubbed at the smudge with his thumb, then sniffed at it. Something about the smell seemed familiar. He sighed and lifted his arm to scratch the back of his head. Only then did he notice the grey dust falling from his sleeve. He lowered his arm once more, and there, trapped between the folds of cloth, were little lines of soot. Pinching some, he held his hand out before him, palm up, with the little grey pile of dust at its center. Soot. He looked up at the ceiling half mindedly. He closed his eyes, trying furiously to remember. Soot…Was I?…No…Ash…I was an Ash…Imp…I – His eyes snapped open.