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Copyright © 1994 Sara-Jayne Townsend.
All rights reserved and reproduction without written permission expressly prohibited.
Cigarette Burns
Kelly pushed herself into the corner of the entranceway to the tubestation, trying
to shield herself from the rain, shaking fingers fumbling for the cigarette packet in the
breast pocket of her denim jacket. Shivering from the cold, she stuck a cigarette between
her lips, taking care to keep it as far to the right side of her mouth as possible. Her lips
were still swollen on the left side, tender to the touch. She scrabbled for a match and
found one, cupping her hands around the meagre flame to light the cigarette. She took a
couple of deep drags and leaned back, trying to calm herself down. Her hand, she could
see, was still shaking as she held the cigarette, though whether it was from cold or anger
now, she no longer knew. She could feel her heart thudding furiously in her chest. Her
wet hair hung in limp blonde strands round her shoulders. The bruised and tender flesh
around her right eyes was still stinging from the assault of the wind and rain.
There was no sight or sound of life from the underground, bar the empty rattle of
the ramshackle escalator. Scott evidently hadn’t arrived yet. At least there was no guard
around, to hassle her about loitering. She felt like shit.
She finished her smoke, and threw the butt to the floor, feeling at least a little
calmer. She heard someone coming up the escalator and started. A moment later Scott
appeared.
"Hey Kel. You OK?"
Kelly turned her pale face towards him. "Not really."
Scott’s smile of greeting turned into a frown as he came close enough to study her
bruised face. "Did he do that to you? Jesus Christ."
[End of this extract. The full story was published in Grotesque #5,
May 1994]
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