Self-Destruction/Transcript: Difference between revisions

NARRATOR: "Rin bends down to pick out a cigarette from the end. She raises her head with one between her lips and turns to me, eyebrows curved into two arcs challenging me to respond. With a sigh of resignation, I pick up the lighter and raise it to meet the cigarette. I can feel Rin's warm breath against my quivering hand. The flame flickers to life on the third strike of the flint and I try to aim the dancing fire at the end of the cigarette. An amber-colored glow spreads into the wrapping paper and tobacco as Rin inhales the first smoke. It seems to relax her significantly. To my surprise, she doesn't cough, despite telling me that she's a first-timer. Rin seems to remember that it's hard to blow the smoke out without spitting the cigarette out as well. She quickly sits down on the floor, bringing her foot to her lips like a circus contortionist and expertly picks the filter between two toes. I get down on the floor as well, and we both lie down almost simultaneously while Rin blows a steady stream of smoke towards the dim sky beyond the glass of the skylight, looking after it thoughtfully. The thin haze of steely blue smoke slithers towards the ceiling in fish-like movements. It billows in the stagnant air of the atelier, twisting and turning around its own immaterial body until it dissipates in thin air."

NARRATOR: "Taking it from her, I have a drag on it, fighting against the sudden choking feeling in my lungs as they fill with smoke. To my embarrassment, I fail, wheezing and hacking my lungs out. I feel flustered, but maybe I haven't lost too much face in Rin's eyes. It's less unpleasant on the second try, but I still pass the cigarette back to Rin. We're like a pair of budding delinquents in middle school, sneaking their first smoke out of sight of their teachers and parents. Well, I suppose it's not “like”, that's exactly what we are. After a while, the cigarette has shrunk most of the way down to the filter. Rin is still looking quietly out of the skylight. With her looking out there, the silence inside the atelier seems to deepen even more. Are the cogs of creativity turning behind those eyes right now?"

NARRATOR: "Not understanding her garbled words, I glance over at Rin. It looks like she's having trouble with the cigarette. I pick the cigarette from her lips and place it on mine, abandoning common sense and good reason while I do so. The first one should've been enough for me, but I take another drag, still coughing a little at the unpleasant sensation of smoke invading my respiratory organs."

NARRATOR: "The sky on the other side of the glass is slowly growing darker. It's unreachably high, even if the shimmering smoke seems to make it closer. I return the cigarette back to Rin's mouth. It feels bad, somehow. The space between us, less than arm's reach, is still there. It's the distance between us, the immeasurably wide chasm of thoughts and feelings that separates us with graver certainty than even light years of physical distance could. By saying the right words, there might be a way to make that chasm narrower, even if it's just a little. I tried to cross that gap with one big step, but Rin turned me back. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Rin is staring upward through the smoke-filled ceiling and the skylight at the darkening sky above us. It's almost like she is sleeping even though I know she isn't. Her eyes are open, as is her mouth."

NARRATOR: "I take the cigarette from Rin before it falls on her cheek. She doesn't react to my touch in any way. So, this is where we are now. I wonder if we can ever be closer than this. I take a drag of the cigarette and blow a thin stream of smoke upwards. These indirect kisses are the only things that connect us right now. The taste of Rin's lips on the filter, mixed with the ashen taste of the smoke. Her soft lips against my fingers as I press the cigarette on her mouth, as if she was placing kisses on them. The ash, softly falling on the floor between us like snow. As the second cigarette is being finished off, I'm already lighting the third one. The only thing breaking the stillness of the atelier is the inaudible sound of smoke floating towards the first stars blinking overhead. Light nausea hits me by the fourth or fifth cigarette. Before long, the shape of the waxing moon appears in the skylight, shedding her wan light down on us. It'll be full moon in a few days."