Fiction
Bare Bulbsby Teresa Sweeney
At seven pm I went outside and lit a cigarette. The orange glowed in the darkness around me. Nothing but stars up ahead, I blew a long, silent trail of smoke. Grey and falling to the ground. We used to joke, no one would hear you scream here.
‘Joni,’ I called.
I half turned my head over my shoulder,
‘No one can hear you scream.’
We used to laugh at that, she thought it was funny then. It was why we wanted to live here. There was no one around for miles. No one and nothing but us. But now she didn’t answer.
I took a long deep inhale, ignoring the heavy silence behind me. At 7:04 my cigarette was smoked. Same as yesterday and the day before that. I let the butt fall by my feet onto the gravel. I watched it for a moment. My old boots glowed orange. S
