Lighter

I sit on my bed, bare legs crossed Indian style, leaned back on my elbows, flicking the pink lighter on and off with my thumb. Flick. I stare at the flame, bring it not two inches from my face, pull back, release the little red lever. Flick. I light it again, mesmerized by the sparks, mesmerized by the simple beauty of a flame. I blow it out. Flick. Stare. Flick. Stare. Flick.

“Would you stop that? You’re annoying the s**t out of me!” comes his voice. I pause for the slightest of seconds before flicking it to life again, staring over the mirage waves of heat at him. He looks over the top of his magazine at me, eyebrows raised in a clearly pissed way. I blow the flame out and wait for him to leave me alone; to go back to his magazine. He does. I flick the lighter again.

“F**k!”  he says, springing to life. The magazine is on the floor and I lean back as he gets closer to me. “Are you trying to kill me?” He says, his face not two inches from mine. I smile.

“Wanna smoke?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he sighs, getting up from the bed and pulling me up with him. He quits all the time. He never stays quit for long.

Reviews

[Joe]

This is a very interesting story. A lot of very good description. Great job! Keep it up!