Transience

     Opening and closing her eyes, staring in space. No, not dramatic enough. She looked at the small figurine resting on the narrow ledge of her window-sill. Mother had called it ugly, and she had not dared to seek anyone else's opinion. For all she knew, they may think she was naive.
     It was a small bust. Carved in dull black stone. It's nose was chipped off and the bulbous head had a funny texture. It's ears were elongated. She had dug up the treasure from their garden at the age of eight.
     Everything about it was dear. The sharp, broken edge at the base. And the way it felt on pressing the thumb to it too hard.
     But she knew she had to do something about it now. The fifteen year old treasure will now become her memoir. Her mark. A reminder. That she was here.
     Her father would soon turn sixty, and they would have to move. Leave Ash Town forever. The Black Castle having fed it's servants black smoke for sixty years and making sure that their breath smelt of coal for the rest of their lives, and their fingers made black marks on white linen, let them free for an illusive retirement. So, she had really little time. She would hide the treasure somewhere here. Then, she would return after ten years and seek it.
       She would knock on the door, which ten years ago was her home.
         ' Hello. May I come in? '
         ' Yes. But do I know you? '
         ' Oh you will. '
And then she would bring out the treasure from it's secret place amidst amazed eyes. The news would spread fast, like the evening smoke. And the whole Ash Town will ring with her name. Again.
   
     The thought brought a smile. And she looked at the bust. But it was so ugly! So ugly! She almost dashed it into a thousand pieces.

Her fingers must never touch black.