The Cigarette Boy

A short story about mistakes. For more of my writing, go to andrewhenleywriting.wordpress.com

“So, how’ve you been?” the young man asked.

“Same as usual. Same as always,” the woman answered.

The woman’s hair was brown, brittle and unwashed. Her plastic green gown was the colour of spat out toothpaste. The young man’s outfit was harder to pin down. He was definitely clothed, not naked, but exactly what the clothes were was harder to define.

 

The young man lit a cigarette, inhaled, and allowed the toxic fumes to swirl in his mouth before blowing a slowly dissolving ethereal smoke ring.

“You want a drag?”

“I don’t smoke,” she told him meekly.

“Oh right,” the young man laughed, “Not anymore, anyway.”

He lifted the cigarette back to his lips and spat a grey fog in her face.

“Better late than never I guess,” the young man said, suddenly serious, with a pronounced frown, “How about a drink?”

“No,” she told him with a bowed head.

“Gave that up too, huh? Well that’s great for the next guy! Couldn’t bring yourself to give it up for me though.”

“I did give it up for you.”

“Not for me, because of me!” he shouted, leaning in close to her. She would’ve been able to smell his breath, but it had no scent, “You were too late!”

 

The young man loomed over her and seemed to double in size. He hovered for a moment, then relaxed and shrank down to his normal size.

“You’ve grown, Simon.”

She tried to stroke his face, but he pulled away. Her arm was left outstretched longingly, like a broken bridge.

“I haven’t grown an inch in all my 22 years!”

“Stop it Simon, you’re scaring me.”

 

Dr. Henderson came into the room with his hairy knuckled hand fumbling in his pocket for a hypodermic.

“Calm down Joanne. Simon’s not here, okay? He can’t hurt you.”

He injected her and she collapsed into his arms. As her vision faded and blurred to white, Simon’s body contorted inwards and disintegrated into bloody shards of meat. Joanne’s legs felt warm and sticky.

Reviews

[Aleya]

It's an interesting if inconclusive read. Inconclusive only in the sense that I want to know about Simon's history and what causes Joanne to see him in the first place. I like where it is going and want to know more about your character which is the very purpose of a story. It is slightly nightmarish and twisted which feels like what you're going for.

I do think this description is troublesome: "He was definitely clothed, not naked, but exactly what the clothes were was harder to define." It feels like a hyfaluted way of saying you don't have a description. I still can't picture something you just described which means your description doesn't work.