Isolation

Depressing the dull brass handle with a thumb, it gives a satisfying click and the heavy red door pushes inward toward me. I step with bare feet onto the cold floor, staring right and left at all the white pillars, then the diamond tiles. I run a hand along the balustrade. It remains solid and unwelcome.

The wind rushes like waves in a dark ocean above my head. Chimes and branches speak of it in loud whispers of motion. Shadows sway across me, but I don't feel them.

Another click of the thumb, the flame flares and dies, and I exhale a breath of smoke, watching it cascade away in seconds. Steps away, I take a seat and rock. Back and forth. Back and forth. Listening.

Dust dry snow drifts against my toes. I close my eyes, remembering all the times I sat here before. A hushed world watches me, waiting.

The cigarette goes out.

I stop shaking.