Cigarette

Cigarette

This was June. The patter of rain turned into the anthem of summer.
Pitter pat.
I figured twenty minutes. I better smoke now before my parents get back. Ten to the store, maybe five there, and then another ten back, they left seven minutes ago. It only takes five or was it ten minutes to smoke a cigarette.
Pitter-Pat, it was raining.
All fucking June it was raining, High river flooded. I could see it now, old men sitting on porches in years from now,
‘The big flood of 05, we had to sand bag everything.’
Ya that’s what they’d say. Bragg creek got evacuated; hell even Calgary was getting flooded.
The big flood of 05, I live on a hill so I don’t give a fuck.
Pitter-pat, it’s really coming down. But I want to smoke, ya that’s what I’ll do. I’ll smoke cause I’m stressed, to many exams, too much stuff to think about.
‘I love you.’
‘I got nothing to say.’
Of course she had nothing to say, she never does.
Pitter-pat, I need something to shield my smoke from the rain, I hate umbrellas. They make people look so weird, walking around with this big folding flowers over their head. Fuck that, I’d rather look cool.
Black hoody, hood up, smoke coming out of the shadow of my face, ya that will look tight. I’ll be cool sneaking out for a smoke in the middle of a rainstorm as my parents are filling their prescriptions.
‘I love you.’
Pitter-pat, fuck June.

I stand there outside, in the rain. It was hard to light at first, my black zippo I paid 21.90$ for is dying. It gets filled all the time, but still acts like a bitch.
Black, the absence of color, the absence of light, the absence of well…anything.
Ya I’d say this month is black, the absence of sunshine. I forgot what sun felt like when I light the cigarette. To smoke outside in the sun, as it shined down on you, that would be tight.
Pitter-pat, its these goddamn smokes that hurt me, not Claire.
I watch the smoke shoot out, I smoke different now. Before I’d just open my mouth and blow, now it’s a stream of thick concentrated stinky smoke.

Some people don’t get a buzz off cigarettes, I do. Lighted ness and an over all calmness, it’s the bees knees.
At first it was such a feeling. Inhaling the smoke I could feel the air rip out of my lungs, some type of monster just stealing all my breath. It made me feel like I was dying, I never felt so alive.
Now it’s not the same, it goes in and rests, the thrill’s taken out but… I still love it.
As I exhale and look at my reflection in the dark kitchen glass I don’t see me anymore, I stopped seeing my reflection along time ago. Instead it’s a sack of skin and clothes hanging and great big cloud of smoke coming out of a flesh hole.
Pitter-pat. I was born in June; I hope my birthday isn’t wet.
‘I love you.’
Black.

Its as I smoke when I get the best thoughts. I planned my whole social essay over two cigarette’s. I decided to write about how super powers need to give up their sovereignty to participate in supranational organizations. I only got 88%, my lowest essay mark this year. Fucking drugs, ruined my mind.
I’ve been sober for what, three weeks now and nothings different.
Taking in a drag I see her face.
I want to take a drag of you. I want to inhale Claire, and have her rip the air from my lungs, make me taste death and then make me feel alive.
I love smoking,

I take another drag. The problem in the world is things end. I look at my cigarette and see only a quarter left. I want it to be full again, and if I take another one from the pack I gotta blow another 10.55 on Du Mauier regulars. I just can’t stand in the cold rain in my wet stinky hooding smoking the same cigarette all day. That’s the problem with everything.
‘I can’t stop loving you.’
‘What! What did you say?’
It’s funny, Claire loves me…and I love her. But it never works, time goes on and we just can’t sit together, or fuck together, or do anything together forever. I had her love, I had her body, but all I really wanted, was for her to like me. Or at least for me to like her .
Claire hates drugs, cigarettes, addictions and scars. And that’s all I am, scars and addictions.
You can’t make someone like you, but it’s easy to make someone not like you. Just ask Claire.
I take another drag and feel the heat on my fingertips, this bad boy is done. I flick the cigarette butt into our garden where it’s going to be forgotten forever.