Miasma

The smoke in the room was too much, swirling around my throat, threatening to choke me. It was too cold outside, the breeze too harsh �" the type that cut under your jacket, squeezed your bones, making it painful to breathe. He was slumped against a bed, sitting on the bare, stained mattress as he hung his head. He stared at his arm with disgust. The needle danced in the air, led by his hand, hovering above his forearm. He readjusted. He pulled himself up to sit cross-legged, hunching over his arm in a protective way. A dull light from the crooked nightstand gleamed behind him, shadowing him in such a way that only his eyes were visible. His eyes were glossy �" I could not tell if he was about to cry or not. I rolled off the man I was using as a pillow, causing him to moan and reach out towards me before his hand fell to the floor with a hollow thud. I crawled towards the boy on the bed like a cat might �" I didn’t trust my drunken feet to carry me.

         I sat leaning against the bed staring up at him. He hadn’t moved in minuets. I picked at the cotton through a hole in the mattress �" pulling out cloud-like threads only to let them float in the air, watching them dance with the smoke. A sharp, high-pitched cry ripped through the silent apartment. I looked up to see the boy breathing heavy, fast, needle gripped in his fist as his teeth snapped together �" reminding me of those plastic teeth you wound up and let loose. The hairs on my arm stood erect as his screams crashed into me. I could feel my heart beating in my throat as he cried out again, this time staring franticly at me. I pulled myself up to sit next to him. His eyes slanted sideways, the white of his eyes catching the light. I placed my hand on the nook of his arm, rubbing his skin with my thumb. He started to weep.

         His head fell into my shoulder and I lightly patted him as I might an animal. His tears bled through my shirt to my skin, warming me. I pulled from him the needle he held, wrapping my fingers around it, blocking it from sight. His eyes rolled up to watch me. His tears slowed as his breathing became long and deep. I shifted away from him, lowering his head to the mattress. He stared up at me and my skin prickled. His brows pulled together as tears trailed down his cheeks and he held onto my hand �" the one that held the needle. I waited with him until he fell into a silent slumber.

         I walked through the apartment leaning on walls, chairs, and people for support. I found myself in the kitchen and sat next to petite girl. I pulled my knees up to my chest to match hers. We stared together, but I wasn’t sure if she was seeing or not. Her auburn hair fell from behind her ear to meet my shoulder. I turned, facing her. She glanced sideways at me, pulling her dry, cracked lips into a half smile as she nudged me with her elbow. I leaned my head close to hers and she met me in the middle. Her hand met my cheek and I inhaled sharply �" shocked by the freeze that came from her fingertips. She smiled sheepishly, pulling her hand back to her chest. I leaned towards her, kissed her cheek and patted her hand before getting up.

         I hovered in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. Two girls sat together �" one rubbing the other's knee while she in turn received small, traced circles on her back. Their cheeks were touching. Their eyes looked pained as they flitted back and forth between gazing at each other and their feet. A man emerged from the hallway and the girls broke apart as if the couch beneath them had suddenly grown heated. As one girl followed the man back down the hallway, the other stared after her �" her lips opening and closing, searching for words. She sat back on the couch, placing her hand next to her, rubbing the fabric as she had once rubbed a knee.

         I found my way out the door. My ribs squeezed together causing my breath to come out in short rasps. The air was clear, hard to breathe in. A man stood at the railing, over looking the parking lot. He lifted his hand routinely, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, gave me an upward nod and held out the cigarette to me. I took it, inhaling the smoke, coughing on the burning freeze filling my lungs. I stood by him, our arms touching �" sharing warmth. I watched his face as he glared out over the horizon. He was 23, but he looked worn, tired, as if he had already lived and died. His cheek twitched, a shiver following through his entire body.

         He smiled at me; webs of red surrounded his hazel eyes. His breath smelled of mine �" pungent and sour, “You’re a good kid. What brought you here?” I opened my palm. The needle rested ominously, catching the pink light from the setting sun. He sighed. He arm slithered around me, his hand resting on a sliver of bare skin between my jeans and shirt. I took the cigarette from him again. I watched as the embers and ashes folded over each other as I inhaled, the white of the paper shrinking. His palm began to sweat and my hip felt clammy under his touch. I flicked the finished cigarette over the railing, twisting out of his grasp.

         I wrapped my arms around me, trying to hold myself together as I walked. The wind bit at my face as it whipped my tangled hair around. I watched my feet hit the frost resting on the grass, leaving a trail of dark green footprints behind in the field of crystal-white. I dropped the needle into a dumpster as I passed it. The man sitting in a scrapped coat watched me round the corner. I heard the lid creak open a few steps later. I quickened my pace as I saw the apartment. I opened the door, the knob burning cooling under my fingers as my cheeks flushed from the sudden stillness and warmth in the air. I sat down on the couch and my father’s drunken gaze slanted towards me. He tossed me a beer, “Hap-eh birthday. What are ya now?” I sighed, “Thirteen.” He grunted as if he had known the answer before he had asked. I lay back in the couch, the cushions coming around me. We sat together not speaking, sipping our beers, watching a man shout on the television trying to sell Oxyclean �" a product that erased stains. I sipped the last of my beer, the foam dancing about my tongue. Closing my eyes I fell asleep to my father's snores and shouts from the television, strangely comforted.

Reviews

[Gold Milan]

I like it. It doesn't feel forced or artificial, it just happens.
Unfortunately it leaves off in the middle of a sentence. What happens next?