The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

The Smoke


There was a raw empty space, gaping like a wound between them. Both of them felt it, their happy trio suddenly reduced by one and words couldn’t staunch the bleeding, words couldn’t save them.

They started with alcohol, then moved to kisses, hot flesh, and rough hands as if they could close the wound they shared with their bodies.

Afterwards, Kusanagi reached for a cigarette but let Mikoto light it with his fingers. No bone, no blood, no ash. Nothing but pieces left like an earring or a camera on a shelf. They passed the smoke back and forth between.


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