Stars barely dotted the dying pastel sky when the antique car door opened. Light cascaded down in an orange hue over the dusty gray land; days were getting shorter. Kore glanced at the sky, noting that detail--of course she was paying attention to that detail, She had to for her mother’s sake. 

Prayers were etched on the inside of a forgotten phone booth. Little bits of greenery and vines clung to it like lovers, a few even attempting to reach up to the faded paint on the sides. Yet, when Kore stepped into it--Doc Martens scuffling on the dusty floor--the vines seemed to grow when she neared. By now, the sky was fading into a faint clementine amidst the heavy ink and distant flickering souls. Obsidian eyes flickered at the dying light, then back at the faded number dial. She pressed a few of them, trying to get through her mind block, but when all of them were typed out, her chest lurched. Her hands shook. Terror clawed and scratched its way into her stomach and throat, like it was killing all her butterflies. Swallowing hard, her thumb jammed into the call button and she waited. Faint rings sounded from the oily phone, but in the end, no one picked up. A part of herself thought, “good,”  but it wasn’t. He was avoiding her and the mess with her mother. 

Frowning, she slipped out a cigarette from the inside of her leather jacket. One of her fingers lit up with a tiny flame, just enough for the cig to alight. She inhaled, lungs filling with dry, empty smoke.Even after a few drags, her fingers danced with the melancholy flame in the phone booth. Wisps of smoke left her pretty, glossy mouth. Salt dripped blue from her eyes, glinting in the minimal light. Agony burrowed in her chest. 

This certainly wasn’t how she wanted to spend the evening, hiding from her mother and mourning the man. 

The sky was all black and drowning in ink.