We Be But Goading Children
The smile disappears from his lips, and he stares at her blankly, before leaning back in his chair and stuffing a half-smoked cigarette in his mouth. “You think this is a joke?” he asks as he drags a match along the side of its box which brings the flame to life. He stares at her with unwaveringly disgust while the matches flame licks the burnt end of the cigarette like a hungry child.
“I-I-I,” she swallows an uneasy mouthful of air that feels like churning cement, forcing her to cough and splutter with a desperation savoured for more desperate times.