To compliment my poetry a short story of smokes power
| The Smoke circled around her yellow-tipped fingers as it made its way up to her face. Deep lines in a face once vibrant and youthful looking. The smoke seemed to gather around her face, as if it knew the damage it was causing. It settled there like a mask, but it was not done as she took a long breath. The smoke went through her insides to the very tip of her toes as it was exhaled out, back to her face, back to her hands. On and on this journey would replay. Like a worldly traveler, the smoke knew its way and always wanted more, the damage not being seen. Only the smoke knew what it wanted to do. It had the power. It was winning. Each day it took more; each say she looked more and more as if life was being taken from her. Taking her youth, looks, and lungs. The smoke wanted it all. She had no energy. She felt tired and looked worn. Her body trying to reject the foreign object from it , coughing continually, until she lit another, the smoke seemed to soothe her as she stifled another cough with a long breath of the grey mist of death.
The smoke seemed to smile as it escaped from her lips. The breeze from the expulsion seemed to disorient the mist as it clung too her face and hands, hoping to rekindle its strength. The smoke knew that life would be short, yet it knew in no time another would be back to bring him back again . To re-light the power and the strength it had over her cravings. The smoke never stopped. It was her constant companion.
Some tried to tell her to leave the smoke, but it knew she couldn't , regardless of all the agreements otherwise. They had been together too long to turn back now. There were not many days that the smoke had not already circles her lungs and other vital life giving organs. The smoke relished its damage and knew it was only a matter of time.
She looked down at the smoke and saw her nails. The yellow stains embedded in her skin made her feel dirty even though she had taken a shower only an hour ago. She no longer smelled the smoke that filled her house, the familiar mists a sign of her habit. The amber walls and curtains reflected the mist and its damage. Yet she could not see that this might be what she looked like inside. She knew she should quit but knew she would gain too much weight, it just wasn't for her. Her cough deepened as she inhaled instant relief to her nervous hands that worried overmuch. She really did need to quit. maybe tomorrow, as she lit yet another. She crumpled the empty pack in her hands as the smell of tobacco filled her nostrils. Oh, to have to get up and go was such a struggle, but her determination was encouraged as she looked at the now empty carton. There was no choice but to go. She made her way through the smoke filled rooms. Breathing in her inhaler from the excursion, she bent down and put her shoes on , stopping to take the breaths she needed to go on , one more breath the inhaler would give as she stood up and made her way to the door, the fresh air hitting her in the face like a bad dream. No longer getting the scent of smoke, the lungs protested with an explosive cough, as if willing her to take in the air while it could. She coughed all the way to the store.
She got home and sat down in her favorite chair. It had been a good day. She got out today. She thought she would reward herself with a smoke as she always did. After all she was quitting tomorrow, so why not make sure she doesn't waste her money.
The smoke, once again strong, circled around her familiar outline. It curled in anticipation of her next breath. It would soon be filled with the grey mist. The smoke knew tomorrow would never come. Those promises never seemed to matter once the mist was given its way. The smokes power filled the little house as the woman inhaled her mist and exhaled her life. Only time would take its last breath, and that's when the mist would win .