A Collection Of Fag Butts (Short Story Part 1)

dave-coulter-builder

He Leant against the brick wall. Th dry tabbaco floating over his lips and eveporating into the air. The process of the chalky smoke being inhaled through his mouth into his lungs , destroying little parts of him gave him the sense of twisted pleasure and relaxation. It formed a mask , against the guilt , fear and bitterness. It was a satisfactory action , to twist the slim pale ciggeret between his idle fingers. Knumbing the agitation and despair he felt. Despair as an adult wasn’t like despair as a child it paralised you steeped into every corner of your mind like cancer , dulling it.

“Jack for frig sake” his friend called to him his voice broad and masculine the tounge of the building trade. A language created as a dry attempt to keep at bay the vulnrability the men felt when they lay in their beds at night darkness cast over them , their children sleeping contently behind a door only a few steps away and the knowledge that the strength of their body was the only thing protecting them from drowning in the hands of the state. “Come on you aint got time for a cig I need this job finished today” his pal grumbled. Him eyes were heavy and worn his mind fatigued his body run down , like most of the boys. “Al…right” Jack moaned. Rumination was a fault Jack despised of himself. The inability to just accept and get on was a weakness he’d been torchered by all his days and bitter envy grew in him , of those who could escape the grasp of it.

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