I look at you and smile, because I'm fine.
Before I realized, I was walking to the parking lot, scarf pulled over my face and hands in my pockets. They shivered as I gripped the keys, pushing them into locks and igniting my car. Within ten minutes I was lost in under a two mile radius. Five minutes later I was being flagged into a house on stilts.
It shook when I stepped inside, tugging off my boots and pulling at my coat. I pulled cigarettes out of my purse and followed a fey into a room of couches and empty bottles of vodka. A pack of Winston's revealed two cigarettes next to an ashtray full of butts. The fey slid into the kitchen and offered me a way out. I said no and continued on, watching a gnome as he crossed his legs and pulled from a bottle.
The stairs stretched impossibly up, wood creaking and cracking with each padded step of woolen socks hitting a stair. The air became dense as we trekked on, the smell of marijuana and smoke slithering around doors that stood ajar, revealing shadows and denim-clad legs.
Before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged and menthol lit, flicking my ashes into an overflowing crystal. I read psalms as more fey came in, bringing music and more beer. Cigs were passed among them, smiles affective and eyes glinting. Drinks fell from one hand to the next, spilling onto dirty sheets.
One in particular had the mouth of Peter Pan, mischievous and moving like the strings of a guitar. He looked like him, yet I knew that it was a glamor; his mannerisms were careful and aware of who was watching. Another one sang words that entered me only to end in the one laying down beside me. A head on my shoulder. I smiled as I took an offered beer and passed him a Marlboro.
As I lit his cigarette, I knew then that I was one of them.
It shook when I stepped inside, tugging off my boots and pulling at my coat. I pulled cigarettes out of my purse and followed a fey into a room of couches and empty bottles of vodka. A pack of Winston's revealed two cigarettes next to an ashtray full of butts. The fey slid into the kitchen and offered me a way out. I said no and continued on, watching a gnome as he crossed his legs and pulled from a bottle.
The stairs stretched impossibly up, wood creaking and cracking with each padded step of woolen socks hitting a stair. The air became dense as we trekked on, the smell of marijuana and smoke slithering around doors that stood ajar, revealing shadows and denim-clad legs.
Before I knew it, I was sitting cross-legged and menthol lit, flicking my ashes into an overflowing crystal. I read psalms as more fey came in, bringing music and more beer. Cigs were passed among them, smiles affective and eyes glinting. Drinks fell from one hand to the next, spilling onto dirty sheets.
One in particular had the mouth of Peter Pan, mischievous and moving like the strings of a guitar. He looked like him, yet I knew that it was a glamor; his mannerisms were careful and aware of who was watching. Another one sang words that entered me only to end in the one laying down beside me. A head on my shoulder. I smiled as I took an offered beer and passed him a Marlboro.
As I lit his cigarette, I knew then that I was one of them.