Grassstrand

Charlie sits quietly on the edge of his pink printed bed in the dark of his small unlit home. It was weird, the quiet, being left to his thoughts-Being safe to do so more than anything. Honestly everything had still been such a blur, reality was still catching up to him. Hiding away on an island, miles away from any of his problems-Hell, he really did grow up to be a coward. He sneers, glaring down at the intricately carved wooden cigar box he had clutched in his hands. Of all he left behind, of course he still had to take this. Her perfume still clung to its porous walls, his canine nose picking it up even when all he wanted to do was forget-Forget everything, especially her. A single cigar sits inside, the last of its premium blends, wrapped softly in pink in a way she had meant to be a demeaning note to her gift. The joke was on her because pink was his favorite damn colour. The joke was on him because the cigars had been the smoothest he had ever had, a taste that always tickled