He tips the ashtray. Stale butts roll out like coffin dowels. Funny, they smell so damn good, when first lit. Breaking the chains of that sweet, seductive addiction requires a resolute chisel, one forged by her newborn eyes. He plunders confections until foil fills the ashtray.
Peppermint is his menthol now.
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"Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to the soul" -John Muir
Is it destiny, happenstance or stratagem?
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Where Fictional Characters Rule
Wandering Soul Writer
reflections on a passing life
Everyone has a story to tell. This is me, telling mine.
I had to find some way to entertain myself, so I made up stories in my mind. One night I started writing them down and never stopped.
Edited by Mjollnir 