5 Minute Fiction: Smoke
Flash fiction about a woman battling with a question of what she's destined for and who's worth her time.
“See that’s the thing,” the guy with a cigarette perched between two fingers slurred. “You think you’re smarter than me.”
Serafina rolled her eyes as she stared at the glimmering string lights behind the liquor bottles at the bar. She wasn’t here for this kind of interaction. Her dark fingernails impatiently drummed against the counter stained with a thousand rings from wet glasses and beer bottles. On the television above the bartender, the news—all bad news—rattled on and on. The closed captions blurred together, but she watched the words appear then vanish, taking it all in.
“What makes you say that?” She turned to him as another round of commercials started playing.
The smoker smirked then took a long drag. A ring of fumes formed as he stated, “Because you’re too fucking pretty.”
“That’s a backwards way of saying I have beauty and brains,” Serafina returned with a laugh.
He tapped ash onto the countertop, despite the bartender’s look of disapproval. “That’s not what I mean. People like you always think you’re better somehow. You’re…privileged. Destined somehow for something. You feel me?”
Serafina tilted her head towards the man, and her blunt-cut bangs slid over her eyes like a curtain. She could still see him clearly in his patched leather jacket, with his grizzled beard and watery eyes. But the veil of her hair cast him in darkness.
“I’m not privileged. Not in the slightest.” Her voice sounded raspy. She swallowed down harsher words and put her hands on her thighs. “It’s been wonderful speaking with you, but I’ve got to get going.”
The smoker grumbled a goodbye, and Serafina slipped into the crowd, her ears still ringing with the man’s statement. Maybe she could’ve considered herself among the chosen few, but that was before she found herself combing locations where the worst and best of humanity converged. She saw it all—weakness, avarice, lust. She spoke to few and judged many. Yet, none of what she did seemed to matter.
The voice she wanted to hear was silent.
Serafina was about to leave the bar when a shiver ran down her spine. She glanced left then right, her gaze settling upon a slim, dark figure leaning against the wall, drink in hand.
Found him.
“You know that’s not going to do shit,” she said by way of greeting.
The man glanced up at her then back to the amber pool of whiskey in his cup. His eyes were the same color. “Suppose not.”
“Why do you insist on running away, Matthias?”
“Because Serafina,” he said, uttering her name as if it were a curse, “I’m not the man you think I am. I can’t save you or fix you or whatever the hell it is you want from me.”
The neon lights from the bar chiseled his features. His skin was bronze from the yellow flashes, and his cheekbones were limned in pink. Matthias’s tight brown curls seemed to give off a blue light. Beautiful, she thought, and dangerous. Not only to her but to himself. Serafina reached for his hands to take the drink from him, but he shrugged her off.
“Matt.” She tried again.
“No!”
She took a step back, stunned by his sudden outburst. Sucking in a breath, Matthias tilted his head back against the wall, as if frustrated with himself.
“Someone called me ‘privileged, you know,” she told him, “for being pretty and educated just a moment ago. Isn’t that fucked?” Serafina let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t feel special when I have to follow you around and keep you from doing dumb shit.”
Matthias’s nostrils flared with barely checked rage. By the look in his eyes, she could tell what he was thinking. How he wanted to lash out. To blame her for his fall from grace. For the pain. For the hundreds of breathtaking memories he wished he could forget of their time together. Serafina chewed on her lower lip in an attempt to keep from saying something unwise. She didn’t want to think of him this way—as angry.
“Is this how you want it?” Serafina asked.
Matthias licked his lips. Swallowed once. Opened and closed his eyes. She really hoped he would say no. Then: “Yes.”
Her jaw tensed painfully. Serafina dropped her gaze from his face to the floor covered in cigarette butts and crumpled napkins.
“Okay,” she said with a shuddering breath. “I get it. I’ll leave you alone.”
Then she was out the front door of the bar, leaving the smell of smoke, sweat, and alcohol behind. The city’s cool air was a damp kiss against her boiling skin. Serafina shrugged off her leather jacket and slung it over her shoulder as she walked, half-dragging her heeled boots down the sidewalk. The edifices of closed, decrepit businesses were covered in graffiti. Fire, rainbows, fruits, and random tags. She then slowed, turning to face a pair of massive wings. On one half, the feathers were pure white, almost radiant in the moonlight. The other side was a bat wing, veiny and broken.
Serafina snorted at the symbolism and rested her back against the empty space between the wings.
People could paint her as an angel. The good, faithful daughter. The loyal, committed lover. Internally, she felt like the demon on a quest to bring an escaped soul back to be judged. But Matthias had enough of her judgment and intervention. He wanted to drown in his failures and in the bottle. He didn’t see her as an angel but as a reminder of what he was losing.
Serafina cast her gaze up to the sky. To the full moon and the flecks of stars still visible beyond the blinding city lights. She thought about the smoker calling her privileged and pretty and smart.
Destined somehow for something.
“Isn’t that everybody?” she muttered to herself.
Down the street, the hinges of the bar’s door squealed, and out stumbled Matthias. He spotted her immediately, as if knowing she would be lingering to see if he’d come out.
Serafina watched him as the smoker’s words echoed through her mind again and again. About the time Matthias nearly reached her, Serafina made her decision. He smiled lopsidedly and lifted a hand towards her, fully expecting her kindness. Her typical forgiveness. Instead she evaded, back brushing the angel wing, and slipped like smoke between his fingers.
—
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed this week’s installment of 5 Minute Stories. I’ve always struggled with straight fiction, as I love adding fantasy or sci-fi elements to everything I write, so this one was a bit of a challenge for me. Did you notice some elements that could’ve transformed this into fantasy?
Loving my work and want to fuel more stories? Please consider buying me a coffee and subscribing.
About the Creator
Valerie Taylor
Writer of short quirky stories, world traveler, lover of ren faire shenanigans, and dancer.
If you love 5 Minute Stories or my poetry, consider following me on Ko-fi (https://ko-fi.com/varerii).

Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.