Yo ho. This is my first piece of fiction on here, so yeah, constructive criticism is welcome. Please do review it 'cause if I get much good feedback I might make more of a story out of it, as this is just the pilot sort of thing. Enjoy! xXx

She pressed the tiny wheel, feeling its ridges on the pad of her thumb. It almost strung, her skin being pinched into those tiny trenches, and there was a coppery smell that would linger if she continued to weigh all the force of her mighty digit into it…

She struck the wheel, watched the flame spring up and lit her cigarette. After taking a good healthy drag, she took pinched the Marlborough Light between her fingers in the lazily chic V pose that all the beautiful actresses in the black-and-white films used to adopt. All those actresses were dead now, but they'd live on as long as there were ordinary girls left to emulate them, she liked to believe.

She was nervous and angry with herself. Why, why did I have to be on time? She mentally raged. He was always late. Always. And so was she, just not today. It was such an insignificant thing to have in common. And such an insignificant thing to remember. And he was winning before he'd even arrived.

The scowl on her face deepened as the sun shone from behind a fast-departing cloud. It was Summer. She felt almost safe sitting in the shade on a fallen tree branch, scrawled with the signatures of many bored teenagers, frowning at the hot, jaundiced world of the park beyond. Fag smoke just didn't have the same self- satisfying effect in such an environment, when you had the chlorophyll green against the sunlight glowing at you. He had asked her to be at the bandstand a few hundred metres away, which she was now observing intently. She might be on time, but she'd be damned if she was going to be in the right place.

It was a stupid game, this one. Just constant waves of manipulation. Changing in frequency and length and cause and effect, but always constant. But it made her feel alive. More than the beautiful chlorophyll of the veins in the leaves; or the nicotine that was currently swimming through her own veins. The months since they had both walked away, her angry and hurt and him, God knows, had felt like a slow suffocation, and now he had broken their stalemate. What if I just walk off again, she demanded to no one, and this time not come back? Sort my life out, give up smoking, get a good job and all that stuff? She sighed, and smiled as she heard his voice in her head, whispering, 'Let the games begin.'