Nonfiction—A Cigarette
A cigarette on the beach:
Cold,
Light-headed,
Salty,
Composed.
You inhale with the coming of the waves;
You breathe out as they slip away.
The drowsiness you feel is the cooling of the earth
as it spins through a universe of cold, salty thoughts.
The embers in the stub are little suns.
You flick away a shooting star
and know at once how small you are.
[Wrote this, hmm, must have been 2010, mid-way through college]
Devoured
I still don't know why I wasn't awakened by screaming, there must have been screaming.
My little sister had a high-pitched tone and when I ran after her as we played around the house, she would always pierce our ears with her loud screeches, but somehow, that morning, she didn't scream. Or maybe, her screams just didn't wake me.
What about mom, dad, did they scream?
I don't know.
All I know is that, I woke up, walked out of my bedroom and started walking on blood.
On blood and skin.
My parents, my sister were blood, guts and skin on the floor. I thought I saw an eyeball but I was so in shock that I tuned out the experience.
I knew my family had been devoured but my feelings were muted because I had woken up to a destroyed world.
I left my house but I was still walking on blood and skin and guts.
The world was devoured.