Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,2

be, but once a month we fertilize our tree with a mixture of pixie dust and nutrients that help the tree sustain its life. Trees like the one we live in won’t really be able to grow anymore, but our presence will by no means harm it.

Neither Poppy nor I spend much time in our home, so we really haven’t done much with our common room. A large area rug has an abstract patchwork effect in shades of creams, tans and blacks. Each piece is made up of the velvety fur that wraps around the thorax of moths, which we have plenty of since their life cycle is only about a week. Our two chairs are dried, hollowed-out upside-down mushroom caps that rock gently back and forth, and are filled with dirt and topped with fresh live moss that we water once a week, to keep it fluffy and a vibrant shade of kelly green. A large flat stone sits between the chairs and is slick with silver flecks that sparkle, and indirect light shines in through the two circular windows cut out on each side of the tree.

On opposite sides of the ceiling are two tunnels leading upward. I fly up the one on the right that leads to my personal space. The other tunnel leads to Poppy’s, whose room is squeezed between mine and the common room. I reach my room after I ascend three feet. At times I almost feel like our home is similar to an ant mound, made up of rooms within the housing material connected by a network of tunnels.

I walk across the room, passing the bed made of Lauralyn wood cut from this very tree, garnished with a midnight blue coverlet made from silk, spun by the worms that live in a cave just outside our village. Dried flowers are pinned on the wall behind it, contrasting the bed’s dark colors with soft mauves, creams and greens. Their structures vary from curvy and wavy petals, drastic pointed spikes, some thin and wispy, some fuzzy or feathery, some even in grape-like clusters, all collaged in soothing tones with a pop of color here and there, releasing a mild scent of dried earth. I pull aside the shade hanging across my square-shaped window. It’s made of jasmine vine, twisted and looped in an abstract design, and occasionally tied in places with strings of moss. One end of the vine wraps around the base of our tree and nestles into the ground beside it. At night the jasmine flowers open and the breeze carries the delicious floral scent throughout our tree. I reach through the window and swing a wooden basin into my room. The morning dew has collected in the bowl, and I splash my face a few times.

Beside me is a small chest of drawers, also made of smoothed Lauralyn wood. I pull out a fresh top and skirt and trade it out for the one I’m wearing, tossing the dirty set into a basket made of dried, twisted vine. I like the way the deep shade of red in the fabric looks against my skin. My tone is a subtle reddish-orange, similar to the salmon that swims upstream in our river during spawning, but a few hues lighter. I lean over the water basin and assess my appearance in the now calm water. I sweep a mixture of fine red dirt with sparkles across my eyelids to bring out my soft brown eyes, and run my fingers through my chestnut colored hair, deciding to hang the loose waves from the crown of my head. I swing my ponytail side to side and the curls tickle the top of my back. If I were in the sun, the natural red sheen in each strand would glisten to life the moment it caught the light. When done checking myself in the water, I dump the excess and swing it back outside to collect fresh dew again this evening.

My effort pleases Poppy, and she actually rewards me with a smile. She then leads me outside the village and deep into the forest, but still within Hollow territory. No one ever goes beyond the Hollow. Well, a few pixies have, but they have yet to return. It’s speculated that the so-called dreamers that left met Father Time shortly thereafter, and just the thought of death puts enough fear in pixies to keep them grounded.

I see a peppermint patch and dive through it, snatching a few leaves that