where had they all gone, these people who had seemed so real?

As I turned over the last page, after many nights, a wave of sorrow envel- 

oped me. Where had they all gone, these people who had seemed so real? 

To distract myself, I walked out into the night; instinctively, I lit a cigarette. 

In the dark, the cigarette glowed, like a fire lit by a survivor. But who would 

see this light, this small dot among the infinite stars? I stood a while in the 

dark, the cigarette glowing and growing small, each breath patiently de-

stroying me. How small it was, how brief. Brief, brief, but inside me now, 

which the stars could never be. 

 

[Louise Glück {1943- } 'A Work of Fiction', from Faithful and Virtuous Night]