WRITING PROMPT NO. 252
The green plastic cup glowed in the reflection on the wall.
John picked it up on his way into the kitchen and tossed it in the sink. He picked up his cup of coffee and slid open the door to the back garden. The cold of the morning took his breath away. From his pocket, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and popped one in his mouth letting it droop a little on his bottom lip. He reached around in his pocket for a lighter. The orange flame flickered in the dawn as the cigarette burned. He inhaled the smoke, the first of many toxic inhalations of the day. he flicked the ash into the pot of lavender beside his feet.
Lynn had left six weeks ago. Six weeks and he was up to forty a day. A small bird hopped on the lawn in front of him pecking and pulling at the ground. It grabbed a tiny grub in its mouth before flying up into the tree in the corner of the garden.
Underneath the tree was parked a child's pink pushchair the fabric of the seat damp from dew. Rust was creeping up the metal frame and into the plastic handles which were becoming pale and brittle with age and weather.
How long had it been now? Three years?
John drew on his cigarette before flicking it into the grass.
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