with the move of a single digit the pack is flicked open / his preferred brand. one pulled out with ease and placed between lips. the next, offered in her direction. she doesn’t know what kind she likes. “ want one? “ higu to shoko. | to @deiikara
her phone blares an alarm ( like sirens, the standard grating sound ) at 6:10 in the morning.
at 6:10 in the morning, her neck cracks its disapproval as she straightens from the bed she made at her makeshift desk. it is too early, & there are streaks of pen against her cheek — residue of her own handwriting that had not yet dried before she slept.
it takes her two hours before she chances across a mirror & spots the marks on her skin. the face wipes she keeps in her purse proves inadequate at cleaning her skin. annoyed, shoko smokes her first cigarette at 8:18 in the morning.
it settles her, but her resolve for the day isn’t yet done. her handwritten notes are smeared, but her printed documents are fine so —-
shoko blends concealer over the inkstains, takes the spare change of clothes hanging over the door, & calls herself ready for court.
her resolve for the day is not yet done, so it’s 8:39 in the morning when she decides that she has quit smoking. it’s not that big of a deal.
she leaves her cigarettes in her desk drawer.
except for : court is annoying — she commits perjury three times when she summarizes a dead man’s health ( & cause of death ) for the court. & they keep asking questions that make her roll her eyes. she tells her lies well, & they still refuse to free her as a witness.
the court goes on recess, & she finds herself with papercup coffee outside — she leans against the wall & smells second-hand smoke.
a familiar face comes to her rescue ( or damns her ).
shoko huffs a laugh & answers neatly — ‘ no. i quit. ‘
but that’s another line of perjury too, because she plucks a cigarette from higuruma’s case.
she also waits for a light.
it’s 15:49.
