Sacrifice

Maxine stood in the gas station and tapped the carton of cigarettes. There were three left. Without thinking too hard she pulled out one of them and lit it. She had smoked her entire life. At least she didn’t remember a time without these long pale friends.

The mood was not happy. After this pack was done there could be no more.

Her daughter had screamed at her, “If you never smoked again, we would all be better off.” There was a basement full, a shaft full, of people who would be better off.

The street rippled before her as she walked. She chanted, “light, last cigarette/ last light cigarette/ last light ever cigarette.”

On the ground in the gutter under the window behind the warehouse lay a little black shriveled thing on its back. Something had to die.

the Quadrangle of Timjuanka

I sat biting spit bubbles on the couch, something I do to calm my mind. They were discussing the next day loudly, something I preferred not to be bothered with. It was her intensity and insistence on exacting promises that challenged my concentration and made me feel captive. The captivity was from a long time standing. And though I had tasted brief moments of slackening guard on her part, there had never been freedom. Ahh! freedom.

"One of you will buy the pizza." she said not making eye contact with any one. I wondered awkwardly who she was addressing. Her angry anxiety barely suppressed. "Dios mio!" I thought, "She will burst. What a mes that will be." She fidgeted around and moved a book two inches to the left on the coffee table after having moved it to the right two seconds before. "She must sleep now" I thought, "But if I say so it may cause her more anger." So, I hit her over the head with a Spanish/English dictionary. It knocked her out nicely and we dragged her up stairs. I wanted to tie her down but he wouldn't let me.