Your Ashtray Skin

#6 Millennial Menoirs

We ran into each other outside the library. There was no avoiding it. We froze on the spot. Without want or knowing what to say, I asked “Can I have a crisp?”. You regarded me quietly with deer eyes; a vulnerable child unsure of what to do. As you uncoiled your hands that were held against your chest your sleeve slid up slightly to reveal your ashtray skin. Stub mark upon stub mark cracked and oozing, your pain rising to the surface, burning to escape through seething holes as red as the fag ends you had pushed into your flesh, leaving weeping, scorching marks. You saw that I saw and retracted the offer quickly, drawing the bag and your wrists back to your chest. Smugly, you put a Square in your mouth and deliberately crunched it in my face before walking away without a backwards glance.

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