The freezing wind bites at her bare skin as she inhales and exhales suicide. There is a certain grace to the way she numbly cradles death between her first two fingers. Smoke billows around her body in swirls, giving her mind a fuzzy feeling. The nicotine silences her longing for a tall building, or perhaps a deep river. In that moment, death never seemed more lively.
YOU ARE READING
The World of Her
Short StoryI'm entering the Johns Hopkins creative writing short story contest & I've decided to put my story on here.
