match (sketch)

she strikes the match against the rasp on the cardboard cover, bringing the flame up towards the cigarette, united in a plume of smoke before she shakes her hand to drop the cardboard stick onto the sidewalk. feet moving, away from the scene, away from the sounds of sirens directed towards this block. she tries to scrub her mind of what she has just seen, bloated with blood and tires slick against rainy pavement – two moments of reaction, to realize the man isn’t getting up again, and to get as far the hell away before the police show up and she is forced to relive it a hundred times in statements and courtrooms and anecdotes.

traffic has slowed to a crawl in both directions on the humming street, either those impeded because of the body sprawling limbs on the ground, or those slowing to get a glimpse before the clean-up crew comes. she turns away from them, left into the alleyway two blocks south, takes a few steps into the concrete corridor, and leans her back against the mossy brick of a supportive building. knees soft, cheeks flushed, she takes a drag off the cigarette, shielding it from the wet to make it last until the filter. here is safe for a moment, smoking and looking up at grey sky overhead moving the shapes of rain, the lip of the roof across from hers, the siren-song dulled in the distance, perhaps now arrived at the intersection. but safe will soon give way to a throng of suits and reality on the sidewalk six feet away. once the cigarette is finished, she knows this moment will have to be reconciled with all the others, and so she dawdles with it as long as possible.

she wishes she could plug her mind or shut it, so what has just happened in front of her will not seep back in. a flame shook and put out, extinguished in the damp streets of november. a cigarette she did not need.