Warned

Warned

The ashtray. It was the first thing Kate saw that morning. Her tired eyes lingered on it as the back of her throat prickled. She desperately needed to cough, but continued to stare groggily at the ashtray. The prickling began to burn and an uncomfortable build up of mucus gathered in her windpipe. Before she could prepare herself, Kate was doubled over in a violent coughing fit. The irritation in her throat had been too painful to ignore. She spat the phlegm into the bin, her throat searing with pain. The ashtray was overflowing with cigarette dumpers. It didn't improve her mood.

Staring down at the floor, Kate sucked in deep, steady breaths of air to calm her nerves. Annoyingly, there was another dumper stuck between her toes. “Ugh,” she murmured, reaching out to drop it in the bin. Her hand froze. The bin, too, was overflowing with cigarette remains, the contents of her damaged lungs oozing vulgarly on top.

She tiptoed down the stairs for plastic bags. It didn’t make sense. Not even chain smoking could have led to this. There was something going on. Something wasn’t right. Her home was far too quiet and there was eeriness about it that she had never known before.

On her way back, her daughter shouted from the bedroom. “Mammy, do I have to get up yet?” Her voice sounded different, as if she was calling from far away.

Kate hoped that Amy wouldn’t sense distress in her voice. “You can have ten more minutes!”

Something was blocking the door. Frustrated, she shoved herself against it and it flew open. Hundreds more cigarette filters obscured the floor completely. She stifled a scream. It was as if the whole house was against her, trying to warn her of something … or else trying to punish her. Her vision had a hazy, yellowish tinge to it, as if she was looking through tinted glass.

Kate had never been so frightened. “Breathe,” she told herself. “Just breathe.”

Breath? There was something significant about that. Some obscure part of her conscience knew exactly what was going on.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing, but something caught her breath and made her whimper with dread. The smoke stung her eyes and throat; she coughed in between sobs. Please, not that, no ...

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

“Mammy!” Amy screamed, her voice still ghostly and far away.

Please no…

Amy emerged from her bedroom looking terrified. “Mammy, is that the smoke alarm?”

“We have to get out of here, Darling, it’s okay. Stay calm, mammy’s going to call the fire brigade,” she told her daughter, trying to reassure herself more than the little girl.

There’s no fire. This isn’t about fire. She ignored the calm voice in her head. Great billows of smoke rose up from downstairs. She rushed back to her bedroom and emptied the bin onto the floor. Dumpers were now piled high on her bed and dressing tables. She brought the empty bin into the bathroom and shoved it under the tap. Her heart pounded in her ears as she twisted the tap on. The voice told her it was pointless.

“Mam, what’s happening?” Amy cried, as smoke gathered around the ceiling.

The tap spluttered and gurgled. Suddenly, a spurt of fatty substance gushed out and splatted into the bin. It was thick and a creamy yellow colour. The foul, greasy smell made Kate’s stomach lurch and she barely stopped herself from vomiting. Determined to find water, Kate tried the shower and the sink, but the fat oozed from both.

Smoke was poured into the bathroom. Choking back a sob, she stumbled out blindly.

“Amy!” she screamed. She dropped to her knees and crawled to the window. Kate pulled apart the curtains and was greeted with a sign that she was very familiar with. White with a black border and writing, it carried the message: Smoking kills

“I know,” Kate sobbed. “I know, but not Amy. Please don’t let it hurt Amy. It’s my fault, please.”

She buried her nose and mouth into her pyjamas and crawled into Amy’s room. Her daughter was curled up on the floor, crying. She tried to grab her child to comfort her, but she pulled away, terror etched across her face. Amy's scream was long and piercing, broken only by sobs.

There was a mirror beside them; the voice said it was there for a reason. As Kate looked, it became clear why Amy was terrified. Kate no longer looked like herself. The skin around her lips was tight and drawn and there were deep creases stretching from her nose to the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were weighed down with heavy bags and her teeth were stained yellow. She looked twice her age.

Could she try the other window? No. The curtains were already drawn and she was greeted with another sign: Smoking seriously harms you and others around you

Amy was barely visible, her eyes stung and she was crying hard. Smoke billowed in from the top of the door, and the fatty gunge oozed from the bottom. The wise voice in her head quietly informed her that the gunge was the fat that clogged her arteries through smoking. Kate held her daughter tight while they coughed and struggled to breath. They lay down flat together. Kate knew that the end was near when the fat mingled with her tears.

The fire alarm’s monotonous beeping bored into her brain.

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

She finally understood.

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

It was her fault.

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

She should have quit.

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

She opened her eyes. The alarm clock flashed, half past eight.

Beep – beep – beep – beep.

She sat bolt upright, her heart still racing, as the terrors of all that had passed flashed through her mind. But the room felt real. It felt solid. Comfortingly ordinary noises, like passing traffic and barking dogs, went on around her.

“Mam? Do I have to get up yet?” Amy's sleepy voice sounded wonderfully normal.

“You can have ten more minutes!” she called.

Relief seeped through her. She sighed, with all the stress that was in her life, a night like that was the last thing she had needed. Stress caused the immediate craving and the cigarette was perched between her lips before she had time to consider what she was doing.

The black and white warning sign caught her eye, but the cigarettes were foreign and the warning meaningless. That was how she liked them - cheap and guilt-free.

It happened in a split second, as the letters rearranged themselves into another message: You have been warned

The lighter froze just inches away from the tip of her cigarette. Kate thought for a few seconds, before throwing the cigarette box in the bin. After a few longer moments of reflection, the ashtray and lighter followed.

It was time for a change.