White floor and white bed sheet.
She sucks the cigar, with her brown lips. The smoke fills her chest, she feels it occupying her lungs, her body. Her brain. She holds it inside her, like it belongs with her. She can’t hold it for long, she doesn’t want to. It escapes from her nose, her mouth. Giving her a cold shiver. Making her think about her brain, the things it holds, that actually don’t belong with her. Like the cigar smoke.
The half moon under her eyes doesn’t tell a lot about her. Maybe she had less sleep, maybe more. But, who knew her high imagination for her small brain to bare. She can feel shadows. She can hear voices. She talks with ones who aren’t a part of this World. She feels these dark shadows staring at her with their sharp black eyes. She spends her night sleeping beside the person who can be felt, who can be seen, but only by her.
She has this vicious feeling of escaping like the smoke. Just vanishing somewhere, where she can’t see these shadows, away from their sight.
Dark eyes, dark shadows didn’t belong with her. Like the cigar smoke.
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