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04 January 2009 @ 09:50 pm
The Dimming Divide::..  
The setting is most stereotypical, with dim light blinking from a single bulb hanging over a folding table. One leg of the table is bent, so it stutters awkwardly and sends the single pack of cigarettes sliding to the edge when you breathe too hard. Your faces are shadowed (it wouldn't be stereotypical if they weren't) and the burning end of a lit cigarette glows briefly as the outlines across from you inhales tar into their lungs through the little filter. Smoke drifts towards the light bulb, and someone coughs, causing the cigarettes to fall off the edge of the folding table and pitter helplessly on the floor.

No one moves to pick them up.

"You should really put that out."
Your voice was young, casual, bored at best. You pull a small glass ashtray from the darkness and set it on the table, giving it a slight nudge with your fingertips towards the curling smoke across from you.
The smoker shifts in his chair, the neon orange of the cigarette glowing for a millisecond before another hand enters the dim tent of light, squishing the cigarette into the glass of the ash tray, twisting it around before retracting to the edge of the shadow, fingertips tapping an unknown beat lightly on the crooked surface. You can't help but notice that even with the yellow of his fingertips, his hand was beautiful. The skin was scarred, purposeful lines etched by razor blades like a tree, following his veins down around his palm, the trunk of the tree forming down his wrist and expanding into roots on his forearm. Branches of white scars curls around his fingers, contrasting gently with the otherwise smooth, youthful peach of his skin. His fingers are long, like spiders. Delicate.

The dead cigarette butt was still barely smoking, wistful curls diligently ascending towards the flickering bulb above.

"So..." His voice was deep and rich and smooth, like chocolate and honey and rose petals. He coughed gently to clear his throat from invisible nonsense. "What did you say your name was?"
It occurs to you that there are rays of evening light in his voice too. And possibly the ocean.

You shift, still watching his hand, blunt nails playing the keys of an invisible piano. The lopsided table trembles a bit with each tap.

You manage to keep your cool, sitting straighter in your chair as you say, "My name is Brendon."

There's a gentle scraping noise as he shifts his weight in his chair, leaning closer so you can barely see his features from the pathetic light. More shuffling, and the clicking of a lighter.

As he holds the flame to the end of the fresh cigarette, his face is briefly illuminated.
You gasp.

Dark lashes flutter against a scarred cheek, branches of soft white tracing ghostly patterns down all the way to his jawline, circling his eye and spreading over the side of his face. Each was in perfect detail, deliberate.

As the flame of the lighter disappeared, you thought could see his mouth turn up in a smirk.

"Hey Brendon. My name is Ryan."

Another drag of the cigarette sent a fresh vine of smoke to choke the dying light.
Current Location: Home
Current Mood: ditzyditzy
Current Music: "Ocean"- John Butler Trio; "On Tour With Zykos"-Okkervil River
Ofiofifli on January 5th, 2009 05:41 am (UTC)
ooooohhhh pretty!!! write more
LyrBlacklyrblack on January 5th, 2009 02:34 pm (UTC)
it has two more parts: I'm gonna write one tonight, the third the night after. I seem to like writing more when it's later at night. ^.^

it's one of those vague meeting, middle, departure kinds of stories I think.

I <3 you Fis!
Jessicasmittenginger on January 5th, 2009 03:28 pm (UTC)
Have I ever told you how jealous I am of you? I think I have. But if not...you're such a lucky bitch. lol

It really is beautiful. <3 Love you!