Smoking

You open your bag. The sound of it, slow, painful. You have to be as quiet as possible, it’s vital. You see the little purse, naturally at the bottom of your full bag. Natural. You laugh, inwardly, as you realise how typical it is. Finally, with one deep breath, you reach for it, and take it out. Looking around, you breathe a sigh of relief. Safe. The window is already open, you thank your thoughtfulness of this afternoon. If they heard the window open, they would surely be suspicious. You’ve already locked the door. Of course. Not risking anything more than necessary, as usual. The darkness welcomes you, as every night for the past months. It’s cold, but the radiator underneath the windowsill keeps you warm enough. And it doesn’t matter anyway. The little bag creeps open, you see them. You slowly open the packet, relieved that finally, today is over and you can slowly have your deserved prize for surviving. Trying to make sure that you’re as quiet as possible, you bring the cigarette to your mouth with your left hand. You poke your head out of the window, making sure no one can see you. The little wheel of the lighter turns with a slight movement of your finger. You quickly light your deserved cigarette and breathe in. Slowly, painfully. You feel the smoke rushing into you as you take a breath of air, making the smoke circle your lungs, some people say; killing them. It doesn’t matter, you never believed in that anyway. The smoke then comes out of your mouth, and you feel a rush of nothingness fill your brain. Finally. Finally. All this time during the lessons, during the teachers’ speeches to you, during your failing tests, during your annoying friends, you’ve been dreaming about this moment, not even feeling an ounce of guilt. You got over that. Why should you feel guilty? This is your decision. Slowly, you inhale the smoke once again, breathing deeply, making sure that, tonight, the effect will last as long as it can. You look outside, the dim lights in the distance. No one is awake tonight, in the house opposite you. Or in the road after that. It’s too late for that. You love seeing the city in front of you, enveloped in darkness, with some office lights still on. But it’s late. You look at the time. 2.34. Of course. As usual, you won’t have enough sleep. But it’s worth it. Yes it’s worth it. Mmmm. The cigarette is nearly finished, and you’re nearly satisfied. You remember the beginning of this. When your lungs couldn’t stand too much of the smoke, and made you throw cigarettes away only half smoked. Not going to happen now. You close your eyes while you take in the last remaining of the smoke. Putting out the now finished cigarette, you throw it out of your window. It wasn’t out properly, you realise that now, as the light of the miniscule fire shines in the darkness and slowly goes off. You turn around, put your stuff away. Now you can really finish working and go to bed, finally appeased. Oh, if only they knew. If only anyone knew. It’ll all come out in the open one day. Everything. And then? Then what? It doesn’t matter. Your brain is functioning slowly, relaxed. Everything will be ok. You’re there. The night air is refreshing. Tomorrow’s cigarette will be even better. You’re sure. Because tomorrow, everything is going to fall to pieces. Strangely this doesn’t even bother you. Still the effect of the sweet torture you’ve put upon yourself. Your eyes shut, and, finally relaxed, you fall asleep.