cigarette - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
She closes the car door and leans back onto the head rest of the seat. A deep breath. Another. It's been a week- no, two. What have I done? That single thought repeats itself over and over again in her mind. The pain, this feeling in her chest and stomach made second guess her decision. There was no going back. No do overs. He would never take her back. Her fingers tremble around the cigarette as she began to light it. The smell and taste were just as bitter as she was. Perhaps that's what gave her comfort. Smoke blew out between her lips. Maybe if she used up enough she could forget all about him. It was a silly thought. But even the smallest shred of hope protected her from other, more dangerous ways of forgetting, of stopping all that guilt and sadness.
Even if it was all just for a moment.
She watched him light up another.
It was his love, his comfort, his companion and consistency.
The ash sprinkled across the cement when he flicked the filter.
As if each floating piece were a moment of his life sheared away.
He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke seep into his cells.
The comfort he ached for had finally returned.
He stared at the cigarette between his fingers. It was almost short enough to burn him. With an effort, he leaned forward to crush it out.
Just as he removed it from his pink lips, he blew the smoke in the air carefully as if it was the aftermath of a kiss that aches to steal a life he was struggling to elude.
She sucked the smoke deep into her lungs remembering all the warnings but not caring. She held it there trapped, thinking how her lungs must hate her now having so little regard for them they must be screaming at her at the top of their lungs--she refused to smile-- those poor dying little cells that only wanted her well; how could she do this to them? She craved oxygen now but not until her entire body got the message that she was crazy and not to be trifled with.
Those silly Warlocks from the Eastern shore were showing off; to them this was a real feat. She watched the ribbon of smoke twist and squirm like a garter snake in torment trying to escape but the meager spell though lacking in pizzazz was enough to hold it trapped.
She watched her dad dozing in the overstuffed chair. The "Lucky Strike" dangled dangerously in his bony fingers, its glaring scarlet eye daring her to do something about it. The carpet was shag, cheap, thick and combustible the scenario was perfectly set to get her poor old dad on the ten o'clock news. She watched his stubbled face, so peaceful like an angel that had been through Hell a couple of times, then bent and gently removed the cigarette drowning it in the remains of his coffee; he was loathsome but he was still her dad.
Cigarettes always helped me cope, so I light up. I think of Emily with every drag, and how she hated this “dirty habit”. She told me that the nicotine mimics a natural transmitter in your nerves, so everything gets faster, that’s the buzz you feel when you smoke. You see, science is all good and well but once you’re addicted, that’s it. My teeth and finger tips are yellow, and I think of the diseases, even whilst I’m taking a drag. I hear her voice; “Jack, quit for me”. I never did, and I suppose there’s no reason to now. But even this stopped working. I wasn’t smoking to take a break, I was smoking for the hell of it. I craved oxygen but wasn’t getting it until I filled my lungs with the harmful chemicals that all Biology teachers in school said would kill us eventually. But I’m still here. It’s finally happened… the spider won. I am cocooned in the silk web. Except it’s not silk, it is barbed wire, stabbing me as it encloses around me.
Light another smoke. Feel nothing.