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August 14, 2019 Fiction

First Love and the Zippo Prophecy

Anne Summerfield

First Love and the Zippo Prophecy photo

He had one of those cool lighters – brushed metal case, tiny chimney with a pattern of holes, bright heat when flint strikes. He’d spark and snap it, a habit that at first I didn’t want him to break. But time grinds love down like metal wheels. A too small studio flat and two not living as cheaply as one, and long days at dull work to come home to the metal snip snap, watching him turn the money I earned to ash. And through the tall translucent flame I saw how my future had flared, orange and yellow and full of hope, then smelled the fluid, heard the whipcrack as the lighter closed and my heart snapped dark shut again. 

 

image: Anne Summerfield


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