Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Last one.

He said it today. He swore he would not touch it again. He swore that this would be his last taste of nicotine. He swore he would never again light one and blow out the circles with the biggest smile of satisfaction on his face. This wasn't the first time he did swear. But this time we begged. We knew that his lungs would soon be caked with tar and this would be the end. But we were helpless. All we did was begged. And all he did was promise. Time after time. Until we somehow started letting loose the rope that tied him to us. But we loved him and still begged.

There was a reason behind every Cigarette he inhaled. As if the world was in a better mood, as if at that time there was nobody other than him, the marlboro sealed between his lips and his endless thoughts that circled through his mind. 

For him, it was the same old words from every person who knew that he was slowly slipping away. The same "Don't do it. Do this one thing for me and quit what you're doing". He would listen. And maybe feel bad about hurting the said person. For not living up to his expectations. But that was all. The next step he couldn't do. Maybe he didn't try hard enough. It was all so confusing to him. And the solution to being in a dilemma again was that cylindrical pipe that he felt would relieve him of all the miseries. That would break him away from what was going around him. He would then promise that this was his last.

It all happened again. And in the end, he sneaked out to the balcony; and hesitantly savored his promised last Cigarrete again. 

The cycle still continues....

*This was inspired by an article I was reading that day about smoking as an addiction and how hard it is to leave it behind. I would love to hear your reactions*

Thanks for stopping by,



  1. Nice story. The other day, I was hearing to an ode to smoking which described how a person succumbed to slow death by the cigarette. Started as fashion, then failed to appease a girl, smoked more, resorted to it, inhaled heavily, stressed out, inhaled more...and then with the first signs of red coming out, rushes to doctor.
    But then, the answer to leave it found again in inhaling it, the last cigarette that his friend lit up for him, probably it wasn't his friend, but the reaper.

    Similar is this one, though it hasn't ended, but to the addicts, a cigarettes offers sanctuary and answers to all questions, don't know why.

    Nice story.

    Blasphemous Aesthete

  2. just one word.... divine... seriously.. that was an "addicting" read... And i just read the first para earlier on... so, sorry for the mis-conception....

  3. Worth publishing .....

  4. @Blasphemous Aesthete

    The article I'd read was pretty much the same. And about a cigarettes offering grand dad said the same. He used to smoke and would say that he felt soo much better and at peace. It's weird.

    Thanks for the comment though :)

    @Golu and Anonymous Thanks.


Come on, *pokes* COM(PLI)MENT! :P