01: Smoke (i)
PRESENT
YEAR 2020
“You do not exist.”
The words withered away uncannily. Trails of smoke writhed in their wake—having breached the expanding emptiness inside. Twirling an ignited cylinder between her fingers, this master of puppetry held the remaining stack accountable for her misery.
Dwelling alone with cynicism was near effortless; she knew exactly when to manipulate strings and drop the curtains. Residing with one who held an opposing perspective on reality—that was a different show altogether.
Struggles for control. She would’ve agreed to disagree many-a-time, were that not pursued by a chain of brainwashing attempts. Few recognised her mother’s persistent nature. That woman’s frequent spewing however, was crazed enough to convince passersby to remain distant. But never tight-lipped. Unfortunately, the modern world had a knack for conveying information like wildfire. Not that it was worth lamenting.
The evenings used to be monotonous. Ordinary. She would wheel her disabled old lady down the neighbouring block. Year in, year out. But even since her crumpled soul had been extricated, fresh air was scarce—and silence, respite-turned-anguish.
“You can be my master. I’ll never be your slave.”
In some moody corner of the home, the cigarette butt rebounded off her reflection and surrendered to gravity. The mirror glowered back. Two pairs of black pupils, locked in a battle of wills. Each seeking the opponent’s submission, dominance of the mind. One that had long ago been torn into opposing entities. The heated duel was fleeting.
Shrill bouts of laughter reverberated across the white walls. Checkmate.
Murky shadows had conquered, to reign supreme.
