It was bloody raining. It dripped from the gutters and made a din on the rusty tin roof, the rata tat tat of a staccato tattoo. Goddamn yard was a swimming pool.
I shoved another cigarette in my mouth and let it dangle as I hunted for a lighter, one that was nowhere to be found.
“Oi Shazza, you seen m’light?”
“Outside!”
I stuck my head out the door, immediately drenched by God’s piss. There it was, taunting me in the rain. I struck it in the dry house, hoping the air was like tinder. Not a spark.
Fuck me.
About the Creator
Ash Taylor
He/Him
Bachelors of Media and Communications, currently battling my way through a Masters in Journalism. Working in radio telling stories, and writing on the weekend. Making my way through my 400 odd backlog of books.
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