Smoke Trails

Ideography modified Photo by Awe Shooter from Pexels

The swirling hazy white smoke ascending from multiple cigarettes is mesmerizing. It puts me back in my small apartment just a few days ago. Then, I was hungry. It had been a few days since I had eaten. I passed time sitting, very still imagining animals in the smoke trails of my long brown cigarettes. Giraffes and tigers were my favorites. Rumblings from my empty stomach provided a catchy backdrop.

Then he comes home with his crooked smile. We eat greasy potatoes, meat, and drink sweet coke. I like a little danger and that’s what I got. I’m OK. He’s the problem — won’t work, plans crazy schemes, has magic indigo eyes, dimples in his smile, and fine strong hands. He’s just too handsome. Danger is his game and he likes me. A combination I can’t refuse.

I don’t like suffering. That’s why I like my pills. They put me down, a drifting down, no worries down, just him and me down.

He brought me in, sadness in his crooked grin, holding me with his fine strong hands, whispering in my ear. White ward, white walls and white smoke trails. I like danger and in here it’s no stranger. For now, I watch the animals appearing and disappearing in the multiple streaming smoke trails.

Reprinted from Inner Mirage, The Creation Issue

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