Nasty Habits

By Alexis C.

Dirty grey smoke drifting lazily to the cracked ceiling of the tiny musty room.

Cobwebs in the corner, a sickly yellow light from a dusty lamp beside the bed.

Clothes strewn in every direction, bodies lying side by side in the empty quiet.

A gentle tap on the cylinder, a scattering of ashes among the creased rumpled sheets.

Fingers stroking across the smooth curve of a cheek.

"It's a nasty habit."

An observation, a statement. Dispassionate, cold.

A pointed look, a darkly amused murmur.

"It's one of many."

The intermingling of red and gold.

End.