pacing

I paced.

My bare feet slapping against the ceramic floor.

I put my hand in my left pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

I turned up the static on the radio. It was my favourite noise.

I traced the cigarette along my bottom lip, hesitant to put it in my mouth.

I tucked the cig behind my ear. Ill keep it there for safekeeping.

I slouched against the kitchen cupboard and surveyed the room.

Everything was white except for the red splatter on the right wall.

There on the ground, in a human ball, was a mysterious man, or so I thought.

I began feeling anxious and immediately started puffing on the cigarette.

As I puffed, I counted.

“1, 2, 3, 5,8, get me out of this f*****g state.”

State.

I moved to Idaho two months ago.

I liked the idea of living in a small town.

Here in this town I killed a modern man.