Jakub Wasikiewicz is a third year English student at University of Toronto Scarborough. He submitted a lovely piece of writing to us!
She found herself alone, crying on the last subway home. Her father had died and her boyfriend had left her. A sob let out occasionally when she could no longer hold herself inside. People glanced over sometimes in frank pity and embarrassment. An old limber man came over with his last Vice Roy in a pack of cigarettes and offered it to her.
“Thanks,” she said, as he went back to his seat. She smiled a little while a tear dried up on her chin.
Now they’ll stay. I’ll smoke and take Adderall and fill my body with chemicals that will trick it into thinking it’s dying. My body will smooth out and I’ll take the shape of the slim tablets and cigarettes they want me to have. Maybe if they see me now as thin, with less life, closer to death, they’ll stay with me, afraid I might leave them instead of the other way around.
“Do you have a lighter?” She asked me. I searched my pockets but could not find any fire that I could give up. We’d arrived at our destination.