The cigarette

He debated whether or not to light the last cigarette. What the hell, its already the wee hours of the morning, and the bottle got empty long back. He tried to get up and staggered to the front door, . He lit the cigarette outside. The nicotine was helpless to take him on a high, he was beyond that by now. Still there was something about it that he couldn't give it up, It no longer pleasured him, just took his mind away from the sorrow. He tried to remember how it was to have the first smoke, or the times when he enjoyed an occasional smoke, when the nicotine used to hit his head and he would feel the high. Must have been ages since that happened. He thought of himself, now merely a creature consumed by hatred and greed. He thought of what led him to it, this state of being. A series of bad choices he thought. He always believed in that, that life was all about choices. Once of the few beliefs that still lingered in him. Second chances, he thought what he would do if he had second chances. Would it have been different if he had not done all the things he regretted now ? All the regrets seemed rational and sane and sensible choices when he made them. Now they define him, the creature, a monster. But it was monstrous what he did to himself he thought.

He was a sensible man, helpful and kind. That lie was so ingrained in him that he himself forgot what was beneath and believed it. Beguiled by himself, he had a spiteful rotten heart that could not bear the thought of being not loved. He had to be loved. When he felt that need for the first time, maybe he was a mere child, but who could do it , and worse how would he know it , if it ever happened ? He never knew what it meant to be loved, he could never feel it. The lack slowly turned to frustration, he wanted more , he was selfish and greedy, always wanting more. Insatiable.

Consumed by that greed he refused everything and decided to create his own world, where he would be respected and loved and cared for. Where he was important. One by one he closed the doors on himself. Always the kind golden heart that he had was helping others sacrificing his own joy for them. The wicked darkness in him smiled, he loved being able to fool himself, it made him feel important , and respected and loved.

When the alcohol hit the bloodstream, it must have washed away the thin veil, he saw for himself the creature. But how could he not love it, he wanted to be loved, it was all he ever wanted. Unsettled him, to think of himself like that.The cigarette was almost over, may be a couple more puffs. He puffed hard, hoping the nicotine could knock him out. Slightly burned his lips. He swayed inside. Empty bed. Slowly got on in a closed his eyes. He wished he never woke. This was the problem with the drink he thought made him lose his sleep, made him com out of the sweetness of his own shade. His thoughts drew thin, slipped away in to sleep.