Grip

My cigarette had about two puffs left when I started looking for a place to throw it away. A couple cars and an out-of-service bus passed, and crickets chirped under the moonlight as I located a trash can.

I took a drag, exhaled.

The last one burned my throat.

I stubbed the cigarette on the lip of the trashcan. I pressed the panel in, revealing the void below. Cool plastic met my skin as I pushed further, and with my right hand I reached in just a little too far, a little too deep, and dropped the cigarette.

Something grabbed me.