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Weekly Contest #374
The teenage girl, the grunge one with the enormous dog, was in the cemetery. Again. Or the Kirkyard, whatever they called it. She was leaning against a tombstone; the curtain of her long red hair fell in limp clusters. As always, she was alone. Except for her dog. The massive thing was roaming idly, sniffing at a cluster of wet leaves and mushrooms nearby. I walked between the grave plots and hoped the girl wouldn’t ask me for a lighter again (I hate smokers), but she was already twirling a cigarette in her fingers. She locked eyes with me. ...
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