Summary:

Ilya was a machine. He was an animal trained. He brought the cigarette up to his lips and sucked in. His chest burned. Yesterday the door was ajar when he passed by his parents’ bedroom. Standing still in the hallway he watched for a minute as his mother, sitting like a soldier at her vanity, used her fingers to spread a thick peach-colored paint across her left cheekbone and around her eye. Ilya took another breath. He lit his lungs on fire.