(no subject)
the street was dark. illuminated lights lined either side of the road, but their light wouldn't reach me. a soft breeze blew past me and i tightened my coat compulsively. my head whipped around when i heard laughter, that dainty melodious sound that sent a shiver down my spine every time i heard it. but she wasn't here tonight. she hadn't been here for many tonights past. many moons had come and gone since i last saw her, but every night when i came to this street, the street where we first met, first talked, shared our first kiss, my last first kiss, i heard her laugh.
a cigarette dangled from between skeletal fingertips. chipped black polish covered the bitten, off-coloured nails. the pinky finger twitched and the hand was raised back to the pallid face, rouged lips surrounded the cigarette filter and bruised lungs inhaled sharply, drew the smoke deep inside and trapped it. the same skeletal fingers gripped a sharp chin, drew another face closer to the pallid one, their lips parted and smoke curled from the rouged lips before breath forced it into the awaiting chapped lips across from them. a dazed expression crossed the second face as the rouged lips smirked, the skeletal hand patted the bright cheek of the face before the figure turned, walking away.
the boy ran his fingers along the mantle, he wasn't quite tall enough to see above the ledge, but he knew what was held there, knew the value they had to his grandfather. his grandfather. when would he be coming back, the boy wondered. he'd been disappearing more and more often lately, and each time for a longer period than the last. the boy turned when he got to the end of the mantle, balancing on the imaginary tight-rope of the edge of the fireplace. he switched hands, so now his left hand trailed along the mantle, brushing the edges of photgraphs he couldn't see. he hummed softly to himself, a tune his grandfather used to sing, before he started disappearing, before the boys parents scolded him for being an encouragement when pop wasn't well. he's fine, the boy would argue back, he just needs a break sometimes. the boy reached the other end of the fireplace and turned again, repeating the process he'd gone through a million times before.
a cigarette dangled from between skeletal fingertips. chipped black polish covered the bitten, off-coloured nails. the pinky finger twitched and the hand was raised back to the pallid face, rouged lips surrounded the cigarette filter and bruised lungs inhaled sharply, drew the smoke deep inside and trapped it. the same skeletal fingers gripped a sharp chin, drew another face closer to the pallid one, their lips parted and smoke curled from the rouged lips before breath forced it into the awaiting chapped lips across from them. a dazed expression crossed the second face as the rouged lips smirked, the skeletal hand patted the bright cheek of the face before the figure turned, walking away.
the boy ran his fingers along the mantle, he wasn't quite tall enough to see above the ledge, but he knew what was held there, knew the value they had to his grandfather. his grandfather. when would he be coming back, the boy wondered. he'd been disappearing more and more often lately, and each time for a longer period than the last. the boy turned when he got to the end of the mantle, balancing on the imaginary tight-rope of the edge of the fireplace. he switched hands, so now his left hand trailed along the mantle, brushing the edges of photgraphs he couldn't see. he hummed softly to himself, a tune his grandfather used to sing, before he started disappearing, before the boys parents scolded him for being an encouragement when pop wasn't well. he's fine, the boy would argue back, he just needs a break sometimes. the boy reached the other end of the fireplace and turned again, repeating the process he'd gone through a million times before.