I smoke. But it's not like i'm some addict. One or two a day, it's not much.And i'm not hurting anyone. Yeh i know it's badfor your health, i watch tv, but i'm not that bad at it. I have a friend who recently quit successfully and he won't stop bitching on about how he feels so much better, breathes better, looks better, smells better, all that jazz. And he doesn't stop pressuring me to quit. He over-exagerattes my situation with health risk jargon and always finds a way to bring it up in conversation, it's just irritating. A while ago we got into a huge argument over it and i just went ballistic. He responded with equal ballistics. It became extremely heated. My basic side of the fight that i firmly stood on was that it was my choice. His side was slightly more varied with health risks, public annoyance, Cancer, a little bit of "it's just Disgusting", corrupt tobacco industries, addiction consuming my life. As if. The fight continued evolving into a debate, as they do, on a much wider scale of things. It raged on, loud spit spraying from our mouths. Eventually it ended with me shoving him in the middle of ranting on about it affecting children. walking away he proceeded to throw a water cooler at me. I amply evaded and kept my stanza, still strutting with my finger up and proud out at my side.

"Fuckhead!"
"Ashtray mouth!"

As you can tell now we aren't talking. Oh well, fuck him. He's the worst kind of antismoker. The kind that walks up to a smoker and coughs in their face loudly. It's seriously rude. I'm sick of all these antismoking campaigns and posters and ads. I'm sick of people who give you frowns when you puff in the street. I'm sick of that lady at woolworths who points at the Quitline signs whenever i buy a pack from there. I'm sick of it all. I just wanna smoke to myself in peace and be left alone. I like smoking it calms me so fuck off its nothing serious. Sure now my friends aren't talking to me, but i don't care. I have always liked it on my own and whenever i need company i've got cigarettes.

Still. The other night i found myself wide awake laying in bed. My mind was a trainride of streaming thoughts and my body an exhausted sheet in need of nightly rest. Never a good mix. I couldn't stop thinking about recent things and wondering if perhaps i do have a problem. No. No, of course not. Well i have been noticing this wierd cough that i've been randomly getting. And i haven't been eating much. And sometimes i really smell.....eh it's probably all in my head. How many am i having a day? One, two? never really thought about that. Perhaps i'll count how many i have tomorrow. Keep a tally.

So tomorrow begins. I manage to have a few blinks-worth of sleep that night. I slowly push myself across the bed to the edge and sit up. I yawn, stretching my face muscles. I run my fingers through my hair, Geez someone needs a haircut, rub the sleep out of my eyes and stand up. I walk into the kitchen, flick the kettle on, set a cup of tea and take it out to the front porch. How i love my front porch. I live in a not overly big apartment building in a small flat. It's cosy and at times cramped. But this porch is great. My flat is on the top floor so this porch, a tiny concrete slab with a fence jutting out the apartments side, looks over the whole suburb. Here i have my chair, my coffee table, a small plant. I have a tea, a smoke, and a nice view every morning. Clears my mind. I sit sprawled in the chair now. Just waking up my face is still a drooping frame. My eyes closed i reach for my tea, bring it to my lips and dare a sip. Instantly i feel a wash of refreshment. I sit up so do my eyes. ah. I drink some more. My morning routine begins.

I place the tea back on the table, pull out my bright red lighter and a cigarette from the pack on the table. I click the button. A great flame bursts forth. All powerful, all burning. In my hand, my face reflected in it. It waves melodiously in the breeze. I place the cigarette in my mouth, most of it protruding from my lips as if it were desperately reaching out for the light
My teeth firmly keeping it back. I roll this joint between my teeth and my tongue lightly dabs the exposed end in my mouth. Miniscule tobacco shavings land on my tongue's tip and bubble in my saliva allowing a slight shot of nicotine to tickle those few tastebuds. I click the bright red lighter again and bring the flame on the end of the awaiting fag. It ignites. I pull the lighter away knowing it shall burn now. The paper lights up, a scream of pre-disintegration, the leafy insides expand outwards turning black releasing the faint steam of their fragrance. It travels into the air carrying micro burnt bits. It is ready now. My lips purse around it and i create a vaccum. The blaze at the end intensifies momentarily, taking that section inward as smoke which i suck in from this tube. The warm fog enters my mouth and spreads between every tooth, gum, crevace, under my tongue, and wraps it. It follows my tongue down my oesophogous. Dropping down to the split of stomach and lungs, massaging the tissue along the way like some travelling translucent sponge. It takes the fork in the road into my lungs. They are giant basins that i pump with gas. The smoke wafts into them. They expand as the grey jet flows in, rises, dances, strikes, steams, and billows within my tanks. My lungs absorb and soothe. My mind eases. I hold my smoked breath a little longer to make the sensation last. I breath out. My lungs tighten and shrink squeezing out the cigarette's cloud which swirls out my nostrils in a downward puff that i see momentarily move up and dissipate, one with the air.

The sensation is over, a tiny nicotine nagging returns.
 But there is still more of the stick left, held classically within my index and middle finger. I finish my tea and cigarette and, now a little more awake, i remember i have work. I must shower, dress, brush, and go. I send the rest of my cigarette over to the ashtray. I twist it into it, it ruffles and scrunches still steaming. You are done. Just before i get up to get ready i remember my plan to keep a tally. I glide my hand over the table and find a notebok and a lidless chewed pen. Luckily there is a lot of stuff on this table.....why is that? hmmm i guess i do find myself out here a lot.........smoking. I brush the thought away as i quickly flip onto a blank page and mark one, red line.

Time to race through my morning. I take one of those fabled 4 second showers, scrubbing myself crazily to eliminate the smokey smell. There is time to rinse and lather, but no time to repeat. I dress quickly into my neat office suit. I brush the taste of ash and it's smell out my mouth. Then i notice something about my teeth. There is a green stain on one of them, rising out of my gums. I brush and brush and it remains. What the Fuck. Oh well, ponder it later, just don't open your mouth too much. I gel my hair and comb it back. Grab my shoulderbag with my wallet, supplies, and other things within and shove the notebook for tallies in just as i leave the apartment.

I grab a quick breakfast at the nearby bakery and head to the office. From there i go through my usual working weekday things. Sorting, filing, and documenting at the office, two lunch breaks and a few quick smoke breaks, and my extra duty, tallying each time i have a fag. Today is particularly busy at work which adds quite a load so i'm not really concentrating on much else. I end up naturally putting in the tally.

Finally the day ends. I give the mouse one last click as i shut down the computer. I sit back and yawn and stretch. I flex my wrists, the only excercise they've had all day is clicking. I sort my stuff back into my bag, sit up after what i realize after looking at the office clock has been 3 hours computer time, i rub my legs reminding them that they were once used for walking and leave the cubicle. While in the corridor i see the watercooler back from it's journey across the hallway. I giggle in the back of my throat and get some water. Drinking and heading out i think to myself  'see world, i do healthy stuff, i drink water'. Out on the front steps i discard the plastic cup in the obliging bushes and pull out a smoke to help out the stress-relief of day's work over. When i am done with it i stomp it into the slate, it turns to scrunched up ash and paper that expands a bit as a pile when the pressure of my boot leaves it.

I start walking down the street. Faces passing by, cafes and stores pass by, me in my head looking forward to a bath. Suddenly, i stop walking, exhausted. I am so puffed out. I am rapidly and deeply breathing, my eyes are closed. It's like a glass box of no air. Shrills of tenseness rattle my chest. It is a huge wash of sudden puffed out extremes that has left me standing dead still in the moving crowd, gasping.It slowly leaves and my insides regain there stamina. I begin trudging on, totally aware that i had just been an obstacle to everyone. I try to unnotice their eyes and obvious annoyance while i get out of this street and down an alleyway shortcut. All the way home i obsess over how random that was. An unusual strike of discomfort that was unlike anything.

I get to my flat, thrust the key in it's hole, unlock. I step in, slam the door closed with my foot, drop my bag and as i take a few strides in i drop to my knees in what i could describe as a coughing fit. My lungs are in flames that blazes a raw itching into my throat. My eyes water, blurring everything. I pointlessly clutch my hands to my adams apple in some odd reaction as i choke on my own breath. It becomes so crazy i cannot even manage a cough, i just kneel mouth agape soundlessly gagging. I try to breathe and uncramp but it is impossible. Strangely i feel the impulse of phlegm that needs to be spat up. Still in breathless convulsion i feel the stickiness against my oesouphogus. My windpipe tightens and shifts bringing it up. I splatter it onto the carpet. A gust of oxygen shoots in at the disposal of the irritations source. I stand up in absolute shock gasping and coughing and wheezing. My beleaguered breaths subside but the irritation is still there. I catch balance completely dumbfounded by that. Looking around i see i must have been clawing during my fit, stuff lay all around that was once hanging or on top of cabinets and tables. I look down to see the phlegm and am sickened by the sight of it. It is blobuluos and jelly-greenish black. I run to the kitchen sink, filling a glass with water i try to gulp it down too fast and it creates more coughs and splutters. I sit down, my head spinning. This is nuts.

I remember my talley. I didn't put in my last cigarette. I chuck my hands int my bag and find that notebook. I grab any old pen in my fist, flip to the page, and tear one last black line down it. Then i observe the score. Whoa. A lot of tallies, unexpected. I count them up and the true number slips down my mouth and ushers up another gag. 57. fuck. oh fuck-mother. dammit dammit. arg. eh. eh. fuck shit. I have a problem. I throw the notebook in frustration. In a mirror i keep on the wall i see myself. My eyes are bloodshot. My cheeks are bony. My nose is dry. My lips are charred. My features wrinkle. My skin flakes. My eyes bag and droop. I'm pale as a bitch. Papery-crinkly. I pace the house for hours. I scratch my arms madly. I cough once or twice. My haed throbs in agrivation. I lose my thoughts, sense of time. I am shakey. I am cramped. I press my fingers into my temples and rub as time and matter melt, pulse and whirl around me and the room is a tornado with cackling cigarettes.

Eventually i find myself in my chair. Startled as concentration returns, i see my porch. The sky is grey and bland of cloud texture, the world dead quiet and and darekening. True night only an hour away. I sit in idle thought........ I have to quit.

I just have to. Look at what this addiction has done, is doing. That was an unneccesary  freakout. I look at my hands and suddenly i don't remember them so freckled and scratchy. I should reall stop NO i need to stop. It's gonna destroy me. It almost just did. I'm so tragically in shit right now. It all hits me. I've lost all my friends. I've been ignoring my family blatently. I've lost all precious human contact. Months ago the habit drove away my girlfriend, i realize now thats what it really was. It's going to get worse from here. I make the pact. Straight up. Now i will quit smoking. I've sucked my last one. Ash will no longer kiss my lips.

At this point i observe the table and see the packet from this morning. I had the last one right? strangely instinctively my hand just digs right into it. I find there is something left in there. My hand shoots the packet to my lap and i closely inspect it. There is some half a fag left. It is a torn, scrunchy, useless piece of rooled tobacco. I could not smoke it. But the nagging nicotine temptation of one last one is too much. I grab it, bring my bright red lighter out of my pocket where it always is, light it, it steams. Too small to put to my lips over it i run it over them instead. I caress my lips with the miniscule burns of tobacco. It is a mild sensation but a sensation nonetheless. Oh yes.... Oh fuck. I'm pathetic. And yet i continue.

And then there is a noise that disturbs me. A hissing if you will. The hissing of a living thing, large sounding. It terrifies me. Light is dim as the sky is dark grey. And then it comes. A cigarette.

It slithers over the railing and onto the porch. It is a surreal, massive, Anaconda-like thing. It's texture is smooth like any cigarette. Perfectly white, brown head. I am so startled i do not move. I drop the little butt, frozen and unblinking. The cigarette is long and moves like some snake. I see in the head tobacco stuffed overly into it, small bits fall out as a trail. Smoke sizzles out of it's head and a small wicker of light plays there as if it's............. lit. The fragrence is more overwhelming than any ordinary joint, sickly clouding the atmosphere around me. It travels slowly, eerily under my chair, the end of it still far over the edge, more and more length coming as it still winds forward. It still travels, going out from beneath my chair and twisting around it, around my legs. It is tight around the chair and begins to wrap, easily. Sheer horror grips me. I am squeezed in it's monstrous width. Me and the chair are lifted up. My eyes dart around trying to see something out of this situation but i am totally lost. It's long, winding mass is everywhere coiling around itself, shifting, moving, raising all over the porch. The beast has me pinned, no effort on it's part, and it's release is a hefty, black cloud of smoke over all things.

The brown head appears, risen in front of me. It looms there, some tiny swaying motion, as if facing me. I am perfectly seated in the chair and constricted utterly within it's cylindrical mass. I can do nothing but stare at it, scared beyond comprehension. It is the light brown of a cigarette's butt, it looks just like a paper roll. I see the smoke billowing up out of it's top, like a contorted chimney, where ash falls and the flickering burning subtle light dapples the nightmarish scene. A strange movement occurs on the section eye level with me. A fold appears. All my attention goes there. The fold shutters. It appears now a slit. This slit shivers, seeming as if lightly liquifying. Then it shoots open revealing a grin of giant, many razor teeth. Aaaaah!!! a mouth. This is pure insanity. The lipless curling grin on the cigarette monster's face(?) is grotesquely wide, the teeth long, thin, everywhere. The papery flesh drips over and around them like gums. Smoke, too, rises from within this new oriface and a black metallic saliva more like an ooze, flows through the gaps of it's teeth and run down what i spose must be a chin. Those canines are grubby, gleaming, green-stained and demonicly sharp looking. I must yell and scream in fear but the pressure builds in my mouth and nothing can happen, this cigarette twsted around my chest compactly.

It's mouth begins to open wider, a pent up pool of the black ooze rising up from it's tobacco innards cascades out, staining all the way down it's front. The teeth are more immense and out in strange angles. A tongue appears, it slides out of the saliva pool, thick, pointy, crimson, encircled by dark lines, it licks my face with the sharp, moistless tip creating a small cut. I feel the sting and trickle of blood. I tremble, Mountainously terrified. And only a small squeek escapes my mouth before it's lips plunge onto mine.

It holds back it's teeth, forcibly pashing me, but some are too long and big and stick into my lips, my gums. It's lips move up and down and it's tongue rolls fully in my mouth. The experience is horrid, painful, disgusting, painful. Like kissing a puppet. Dry, papery, sharp, tight, and the tongue like a cardboard roll. As it slides in and out it cuts and slashes my tongue open, the only moisture in this passion of hell is my gushing blood. Explosions of pain inflame me, stinging, blinding waves pouring in me. It intensely exhales smoke into, down my throat, a thousand times more force than an ordinary cigarette. The gas intoxicates into every vein and organ pulsating poison throughout me. Now the cringing pain bloats in my whole being. The cigarette pauses, it ripples a bit, gurgles, then aggressively pushing back into my mouth it vomits it's nicotine bile into me and it's long teeth shoot through the roof of my mouth and my lower jaw, contorting my skull. The vomit blends with blood and invades into my lungs and stomach, overflowing my lungs to the point of busting and burning out my stomach acid. My body is undescribably wretched in pain, tense shaking, and vile gagging. As a last amusement to bring my devestation to an ultimate agony it plucks it's tongue into my eye sockets consecutively, drilling deeply and pulling them right out from the edge of my brain.

It is gone, night is here, i am a twisted, drowned, crinkled, pale, shabby, ripped, violated, destroyed, putrid, bled out, broken, disfigured, dismembered, brutilised corpse.

The Cigarette has dissapeared back to the nighttime surreality it emerged from.

I was killed by cigarettes.