WEN: 096A33
Exhibitor Name: Daniella Smith
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
“Run,” I whispered, placing a hand against the small of her back. She did, albeit cautiously, and I followed next to her. We ran in the direction of my house, gravel skidding behind us, wind tousling our hair. When we finally made it to my neighborhood, I slowed down to a speed walking pace. She did the same, and I put my hand on her shoulder. “No one lives here but me, so we’re safer here.”
She didn’t say anything, but I did see a small smile creep up her face. Unable to help myself, I smiled too.
I led her to my front porch, helping her sit down on the steps. I knew she was tired: her face was flushed from the cold and exhaustion; her shoulders were shaking with exertion; every so often, her breathing was interrupted by a dry cough. After she was situated, I handed her a water bottle from my backpack. While she drank, I sat next to her and unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders, shrugging off my bomber jacket and helping her put it on. Afterward, I gave her the blanket back.
We sat in relieved silence, staring up at the dark sky sprinkled with white stars. Crickets chirped around us; a dog barked distantly.
“Whitney.”
I blinked in surprise. “Hm?”
“I’m Whitney.”
“Oh,” I said intelligently, glancing at Whitney, who was already staring at me. I noticed glittering tear marks tattooing her cheeks.
“Wh-” Whitney Began, but then seemed to take back her words. She cleared her throat. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
“Marlboros or Parliaments?”
“Marlboros.”
I reached into my pockets and retrieved a lighter and the pack of cigarettes. I handed her one and took one for myself, lighting it, and lighting hers in favor. I observed the way smoke plumed from her rosy lips and into the night sky.
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