Cigarettes, written April 12, 2012

He flicked it one, two, three times before the ash fell off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

It was his stress reliever. There was no addiction, no needing one just to need one. He needed it to keep the shaking and bad thoughts at bay. It helped him concentrate on keeping a clear head when it got too bad. He could go weeks without needing one. Sometimes he did. But there were days where he smoked a whole box, if not more.

He flicked it one, two, three times to knock the ash off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.


One cigarette the night he caught his wife cheating. Two cigarettes after the fight that lead to his wife being his ex. Three cigarettes the morning her body washed up on the river banks three weeks later. Four cigarettes the day they caught the man who did it. Five cigarettes when “the man who done it” turned out to be his brother. He threw them all out when he was sentenced for life, because he could finally sleep again.

He flicked it one, two, three times to shake the ash off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in, breathe out.

Most mornings started with a cigarette, as he awoke from nightmares most mornings. He would stand against the railing, watching the sunrise shine through the fog rolling over the city. When he couldn’t sleep at night, he’d stand out and watch the stars he couldn’t see. He would stand there, smoking and not thinking. Empty mind, full lungs. That’s how he lived his life, until the very last breathe.

He flicked it one, two, three times to clear the ash off the end. Up to his mouth, suck in,