Y hallo thar.
It's drabble time.
There was a scratching sound followed instantly by the unmistakable sound of a flame being ignited. Light shone, a match was lit, and warm light bathed the space. The aforementioned space was now identifiable as the interior of a bedroom. The light moved and the match served its purpose-- lighting a cigarette that was perched between Axel's lips. The match went out and all that was left was the angry red glare of the cigarette's tip each time he inhaled the intoxicating fumes.
That red dot moved, he'd taken the cigarette out of his mouth, resting it on an ashtray as he stared out the window at the twilit sky.
He was thinking about him again. Why was he so attached to that kid, anyhow? He'd moved on-- found someone new to pass the time with-- and yet, he was alone now and his thoughts reverted to the past-- to the one that got away.
It was as though his mind was mocking him-- saying "Remember this? Yeah, you'll never feel that good again." He hated it. He hated remembering. He hated that he'd tried to get over it and had obviously failed miserably.
He hated his feigned existence.
There was a scratching sound followed instantly by the unmistakable sound of a flame being ignited. Light shone, a match was lit, and warm light bathed the space. The aforementioned space was now identifiable as the interior of a bedroom. The light moved and the match served its purpose-- lighting a cigarette that was perched between Axel's lips. The match went out and all that was left was the angry red glare of the cigarette's tip each time he inhaled the intoxicating fumes.
That red dot moved, he'd taken the cigarette out of his mouth, resting it on an ashtray as he stared out the window at the twilit sky.
He was thinking about him again. Why was he so attached to that kid, anyhow? He'd moved on-- found someone new to pass the time with-- and yet, he was alone now and his thoughts reverted to the past-- to the one that got away.
It was as though his mind was mocking him-- saying "Remember this? Yeah, you'll never feel that good again." He hated it. He hated remembering. He hated that he'd tried to get over it and had obviously failed miserably.
He hated his feigned existence.