"Hey."
"Hey."
"What do you have there?"
"A cigarette; I needed a break from them." I nodded my head to the crowd of relatives, all pressuring one kid by the next to have straight A's and "do their best." It's as if they are daring one another to contradict their words.
"You know how people step in and out of lives? Tangle their fingers with our lives' thread? Well, some of them are cigarette breaks." She pointed to my cigarette—a red ribbon of heat trickled at the end. "And others are forest fires, leaving the worst burns on our tongues. But you know something? Forest fires can be good. After they have damaged everything once beautiful, they bring life to new emotions, to new life. Don't let them burn you and trick you into thinking that you're done for good. This is just another stage in life."
She grabbed the cigarette and threw it onto the ground, smushing it with the toe of her shoe. "See you around."
YOU ARE READING
therapy
Short Story"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."
