blowing small clouds of smoke.
Silver hair was tied up with a silk ribbon.
Bright face, semi-closed green eyes with long furry eyelashes, he was one about who is said to have angelic beauty.
But deep sadness appeared on his face, like if something torments him from the inside.
He was dressed in exquisite Victorian clothes.
White shirt with wide sleeves tucked into the high waisted pants. Suspenders, untied bow tie, high brown shoes – every detail was absolutely perfect.
He stands here in front of me like a character from Oscar Wilde’s tales.
-Excuse me, do you have a cigarette?
An angel stooping to me and asking such a question left me a little speechless. - Of course, - I answered with shaking voice and gave him a cigarette, - please.
But when I raise my eyes and look at this “angel’s” face closer my heart filled with sorrow and revulsion.
When he come closer fragile appearance changed to painful weakness. The blue tint of the veins appearing from the white skin betrayed him as an addict, and the reddened semi-closed eyes only convinced me even more.
The hand reaching out to me for a cigarette was scarred. The one who stands in front of me was not an angel anymore but a maimed soul beaten by the cruel world.
— Thank you, — his thin cold fingers barely touched mine.
He lit a cigarette, but soon after the first cloud of smoke that he exhale with such obvious bliss, he looked at me in embarrassment, realizing my disappointment.
— Sorry, — he tried to squeeze a polite smile out of himself, as if to comfort me after my hopes and expectations being ruined.
So we stood at the walls of the hospital, inhaling slowly and exhaling smoke that killed both of us, a little disappointed, a little admired by the nobility of each other, with the hope that someday everything would be better.
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