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Jonathan had woken up and wandered away from the camp where Evy and Rick flirted in the firelight. He loved his sister but after the day they’d just had, he really couldn’t handle listening to the two of them swoon over each other.
And it had been a day. Far too long of a day for his liking. For god's sake the other man they had been traveling with had been eaten alive from the inside out -- driving him to such madness that he’d run head first into a wall and fell down dead. In trying to maintain an unaffected face, Jonathan had cracked a joke while rooting through the man's belongings; finding a weak sense of comfort in the bottle of booze he discovered. He’d taken a swig from the broken necked bottle, hoping it would soothe his nerves.
It really was just his luck that then the camps would be ambushed by men on horseback, cloaked in dark robes. Running half-drunk, liquor in one hand pistol in the other, Jonathan had managed to shoot a man off his horse only for another to appear behind him brandishing a sword. He went screaming into the fray, to have O’Connell tackle his pursuer off his horse. It was only when Rick entered a stand-off with the leader of the cloaked men, threatening to blow everyone in Hamunaptra skyhigh with the lit stick of dynamite clenched in his fist, that the attack came to an end. But not before the dark-eyed leader warned them to leave or die.
So yes, it had been far, far too long of a day for Jonathan’s tastes.
Still reeling from everything that had happened Jonathan collapsed unceremoniously onto his ass on the top of a nearby sand dune. On the wind, from behind him, he could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional pops of the fires but alone on the dune it was as though he was miles away from it all.
Looking out over the endless expanse of sand stained blue-black by the twinkling night sky he slid a hand into his shirt pocket, pulling out an unassuming aluminum tin and flipped it open, sliding out a thin cigarette. With shaking hands he brought the cigarette to his lips, sliding it between them before digging through his pockets for a lighter.
Jonathan didn’t smoke often; he was by no means a slave to nicotine. In fact, his smoking was something few people really knew about -- not even Evy was aware of it. Finding his lighter at long last he lifted it to the end of the cigarette hanging limp from his lips, cupping the flame to shield it from the desert wind. The tip of the cigarette glowed orange as he sucked in a breath.
He’d started smoking in his first years of lower secondary school. All the boys in his class were doing it, or so he was told. Not one to actively seek out ostracization Jonathan had adopted the habit rather quickly, but he never liked it. Not the way the lighters flame caught his thumb, or the way the smoke stung his throat, or the way the stink of it lingered. He only smoked around others to prove he was like them, to make sure they knew he fit in.
Another languid pull from the cigarette, illuminating his face for a moment.
He looked out at the inky desert and imagined it as the sea. He’d often gone to the sea in his childhood, tearing his parents from their work so they could go together. For as much as his father groaned and grumbled Jonathan could tell that the sun and the surf did him good. The same went for his mother, who would glow in the sunshine, breathtakingly beautiful. And his wee little sister, who would play in the shallows and the sand. And for an afternoon they would really be together, as a family.
A tear cut a hot line halfway down his cheek before he swiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He inhaled harshly, letting the smoke burn in his throat, holding his breath until it started to hurt before exhaling. The smoke curled out of his mouth as it was swept away by the breeze.
How stupid of him to cry now, after their deaths.
The day’s events must have had more of an impact on him then he’d first thought.
White ash fell from the tip of the cigarette, landing on his lap. He brushed it away before leaning back, lying down on the slope of the sand dune.
He gazed up at the infinite expanse of stars above him, which seemed to threaten to swallow the desert whole. The tip of the cigarette smouldered orange, obscuring some of the stars.
He had stopped shaking. He couldn’t remember when but as he slotted the cigarette between his fingers it no longer trembled.
The sounds of the camps beyond the dune had quieted. The entire desert had fallen into near perfect silence, stretching out before him like a painting he expected to find in a museum. It was as though time had stopped, leaving him as the sole person in motion.
Jonathan took one last drag from the cigarette, pushing himself up as he exhaled, stubbing the burning tip into the sand beside him. With nicotine buzzing in his system he felt better. Grounded. More than he’d been before. With a groan he heaved himself to his feet, trucking the cigarette tin and the lighter back into his pocket as he trekked back to their camp, hoping to find some peace in sleep before the next dawn.