The afterlife of our relationship is sprinkled with ash. I’ve started smoking to keep my lips busy. My tastes have dulled, but I love burning away one moment after another, every inhale sucking life until I’m drained in the sooty darkness. My chest craves the warm hugs. But I wish I could smoke you, make you burn with desire for me again, leave you crumbling and soft, sliding on the wind to land at my feet, where I snub out that last spark with the heel of my boot, carry your remains on my sole while I recover my breath.
Melanie Maggard is a Seattle-based flash fiction writer. She has published in Cotton Xenomorph, The Dribble Drabble Review, X-R-A-Y Magazine, Five Minute Lit, and others. Find Melanie at www.melaniemaggard.com.
A (NON)SMOKER was a finalist in Five Minutes’ 2022 Spring Contest: Second Chances. Congratulations, Melanie!