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24 July 2008 @ 02:10 pm
Smoking Stories  
Smoking stories are stories short enough that you can read them through as you smoke one cigarette.


I didn't want to go in there. I knew that's where I would find my body. Wet, still warm, covered in gold coins.

It had been a sort of accident. We had bathed ourselves and loved each other enough to wish each other out of our flesh. Her gold curls and my straight black hair, lovely though they were, were not enough. I told her she was beautiful, and now she had to get rid of it.

Being naked was not enough. Having a bath where there shouldn't be one, was also not enough. Now that we had let the blood out, I was frightened of finding myself, of haunting my body, even though I knew it wasn't me.

I didn't know what she would look like without her gleaming hair. I couldn't find her anywhere.