Disclaimer: Ashura the Hedgehog is © me

2: Paradise Lost

Ashura the Hedgehog was not ugly. Nor was he stupid. But when he was young, that's what he would have been considered, though he was simply different.

Ashura lived on Emerald Isle, an island separated from Station Square by about three miles of ocean. He had been abandoned there on his eighth birthday, and had never seen another creature since, not even a human. His only neighbors were the native small animals.

During Ashura's childhood, hedgehogs were lighter colors, such as different shades of violet, blue, and pink. The same went for Ashura's parents. But Ashura was the color of pea soup, and his face was black. A black stripe ran down the ridge of his top quill, and he also had an extra black quill, which had grown out of his forehead like a cowlick. Before he was abandoned, he was constantly teased about his name, appearance, shyness, and his stuttering problem. His parents were ashamed and detested him, and one horrible night his mother finally dumped him on the deserted tropical island.

Which is why Ashura would have been considered stupid, because he had been separated from society for so long. On the outside, he was a big fellow: nineteen years old and far taller than an average hedgehog, standing at four feet six inches. But his mind seemed to have frozen: trapped at eight years.

Ashura may have been simple for his age, but technically he wasn't stupid. He liked to learn, and his mind was always going, freely enjoying enthusiasm that he hadn't been able to express while living in the village. He had a good life on Emerald Isle.

Nevertheless, he still wanted companionship. He wanted a family and friends to love him. On some lonely nights, he would lie in his tiny cave behind a waterfall, gazing into the darkness, struggling to recall just what he had done to be banished from his home.


Ashura was up a tree picking coconuts when he saw the small blue plane go down in the ocean. He stared hard at it, hoping to see the pilot, but the wreck was too far away. Nothing else happened. Ashura still watched, worried and confused, but there was nothing he could do. He got a firm grip on a coconut and pulled.

A sudden explosion knocked Ashura clear out of the tree, and, unbeknownst to the hedgehog, blew out glass in a few of the taller buildings in Station Square. He let out a short, terrified cry as he fell, and landed hard on his back.

It took several seconds for Ashura to be able to move again. Wincing, he turned his head towards the ocean. He saw a dark red waterspout, stretching high into the sky and throwing the ocean into turmoil. Fierce waves bashed against the island, spraying Ashura's face with warm water . . . that smelled like blood. Ashura's stomach began churning like the ocean. He managed to stand up, gasping with pain and fear.

To his horror, the waterspout began to slice through the water towards Emerald Isle. The roar and foul smell increased as it approached.

Two seconds later, the waterspout struck and totally enveloped Emerald Isle. Something like a devastating hurricane began then. Ashura was pounded by water, slung about by the wind and nearly deafened by the sucking roar. At one point he was blown eight feet into the air, and thought he was going to be pulled into the funnel. But a sudden gust slammed him face-first onto the ground. He lay there, trembling, for only a few seconds, then forced himself to run to his home: the cave behind a waterfall. Once again, he hunched over and rested for a few seconds, and then sat down hard, not knowing what to do next. But he didn't want to die. He would leave somehow; get off the island.

Next to him on the cave floor rested his only possession: a rod. A mahogany-colored rod with a large black crystal at one end. The end that held the crystal was shaped like four clawed fingers clucthing the rock, which had been cut to resemble a lick of flame. It was an old family heirloom, but he was probably the last generation to own it since he was all alone. No son or daughter to give it to someday . . .

Silly, but Ashura didn't want to lose it. It was his, the only thing that was truly his. His only reminder of home. With a grunt, he snatched it up and lunged back out into Hell.

The gale nearly tore the rod out of his hand. Desperate to keep his only belonging safe, he grabbed a palm leaf flapping over the ground, tore off a strip of it, and tied the rod tightly around his waist. The sharp edges cut into his skin, but at the moment he didn't notice. Chunks of the island were now being ripped off and sucked into the funnel, but somehow Ashura managed to stay on the ground, clinging to rocks and trees that hadn't come off yet. When the wind lessened a bit, he spun in a full circle, looking for a break in the wall of red water. There was none, and if he tried to jump through the funnel, he would most likely be torn apart or crushed by the force. But Ashura would rather die trying to escape than die helplessly. And what happened next forced him to make his decision.

Some sort of white glow was forming deep inside the funnel. Ashura shielded his eyes and gazed up at it. It continued to grow and brighten until he could no longer look at it. Then a fresh wave of panic swept over him. Something was telling him that this was a weapon of mass destruction; that he stood no chance at all if he didn't escape. All sense flew out of Ashura as he bolted for the edge of the island.

Something incredibly hard struck him on the right side of his face. Ashura screamed and fell to his knees, clutching the injury with a trembling hand. The object had most likely been a flying rock, and a good-sized one, too. For a moment, Ashura felt faint. The whole right side of his head was filled with a ripping pain. Something ran into his eye; for a moment, he believed it to be the rain, but then his right field of vision went red. Still, it didn't stop his attempt to escape. He stood up, ran for the wall of the waterspout, and jumped through.

Ashura was yanked viciously into the swirl of the waterspout, and he truly believed that this was it. His body felt as if it were imploding, then exploding, and being sucked inward again, over and over. His head was hammered down, forcing him to curl into a ball to prevent his neck from breaking. He was sure his skin was being ripped from his body. He tried to scream, but his breath was sucked painfully out of his lungs.

And then he was free falling, and belly flopped into the wild waves. The last thing Ashura heard and felt was the roaring water, and an explosion that propelled him into oblivion.