The softening black of the summernight sky stretches out like an endless vault above the little neighbourhood, arching over the tiny houses with their mildly organized flowerbeds and haphazardly mowed lawns, like a dark blanket of false comfort. Tiny stars flicker into view occasionally in the gaps between burly grey clouds. The hidden, yellowy glowing orb shines partly through, above an artificial imitation, known as a streetlamp, around which several moths have gathered in quiet worship.
She inhales another puff of smoke slowly, her lips hugging the cigarette butt in regret and she savours the bitter taste even though she's come to hate it lately. Its rough disgusting tint curls down her throat and settles like a tumor-shaped lump in her ribcage, whilst its soul curls out into the night to join the clouds together with her breaths. She rarely finishes a whole cigarette nowadays, which is an improvement from her usual chain-smoking to be sure, and yet she can't seem to bring herself to quit entirely. As if she is desperate to hold onto anything that will ensure any sort of comfort by the secure feeling of familiarity. But she isn't really. She's just too stubborn to give it up.
There is a flutter of wings above her, but she doesn't look up to see whether it was caused by a newly awoken bat soaring past, or a sneaking angel. Instead she puts the cigarette out and cast a final glance up at the sky, which have extended its arms in welcome, awaiting the fast approaching twiligt. Her gaze flicker across it breifly, and she thinks;
"Not tonight..."
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