drabble for stress's contest.
smoke was the theme.
my characters.
Smoke.
The smoke dispersed above her head quickly as she watched. Inhaling another lungful, she blew out softly, hazily watching with unseeing eyes.
Her light brown eyes were filled with pain and tears, both threatening to spill over if she blinked. Carefully she tottered between numbness and frightening fury, as she spent time quelling the anger that came before her salty tears.
She was laying on his bed; she could smell his scent on the pillow underneath her head. Another lungful, watching the soft gray clouds diffuse into the air. Still unmoving, her heart kept beating, her lungs kept breathing, and her soul kept aching.
Minutes passed, then an hour, then two. She still had not moved except to light other cigarettes. She could not smell his scent anymore; it had been clouded over long ago with the smell of acrid smoke. She did not think anymore; she just remembered sights from long ago.
Remembering his first words, remembering how early he walked, and talked. She remembered how she feared that one day he would be the independent, careless, free boy that he was, and get hit by something on those evil streets. She was so sure that day would come if she didn't keep it at bay and she did the best she could.
But that day came unmercifully and unnoticed as the morning spread its glorious rays, warming the cities of this cruel world.
The threatening tears stung her eyes but still she felt numb. Her anger and pain had detained her and she could not move, could not think, and could not live.
As she carefully watched the smoke scatter, she realized that human lives were just the same. Should something unfortunate happen and the human soul will be freed from its vestiges to flit to some heaven where angels sang and children played harps.
Poor Patrick, she thought sadly, my Patrick. Then, the dam broke.
The tears leaked from her eyes and she dropped her lit cigarette to mourn her dreadful loss. She began to wipe the salty tracks but stopped when she saw it didn't matter. She sobbed as she watched his life replay over and over in her mind. Smattering his little pillow with her tears she sobbed for his life and for hers. She knew she'd never be the same again.
He was a representation of all she had gone through to have him. All the beatings, all the nights she went without food, all the times she had slept with nameless men to support his growing body. And now, all was in vain.
She felt her soul seep through the cracks of her despair and she closed her eyes, still weeping. Feeling her soul rise, she calmed herself and began again to watch the smoke rise and disperse. Feeling the sticky salty tears dry on her cheeks, she watched the smoke rise and collect, for it wasn't cigarette smoke she was watching.
It was the smoke of the fire, as she ended her life of sadness.