the man drew back to reality, his body shaken with fear. recently, his past had taken a liking to hitting him at random times with flashbacks. many times when taking down animals in his childhood forest, what he thought was home even today. he dropped his cigar, taking a deep breath and sitting down before flipping out his lighter and lighting another.
he shook his head, a sigh fluttering from his mouth. the smoke, visible as always, flushed with the sigh like a couple hand in hand. he closed his eyes, letting the musky air consume his lungs. it was his only sense of peace, smoking and drinking, he couldn't let it go no matter how hard he could try.
his white-grey shirt, now almost black from dirt and ashes, mingled with the world around him. his body was a living ashtray, from his dirty shirt to his lungs melting away from the smoky world.
"what happened to me," he cried. "where did I go?" he looked down, resting his hands on his head. is this really me? i don't like me.. his eyes started to water as another flashback flew before his eyes.
YOU ARE READING
not me- short story.
Short Storyi'm not skin deep. i'm deeper. you see me as a killing machine, but i am only a victim of my past. ----x---- this was my narrative this year (2017) around january - february. many commented on how it was written so i decided to just publish it here...
