Smoke - By Nathan Iverson
Well here's my first post. Its from a collection of stuff I've kept over the years. It's actually the first piece of literature I ever completed on top of that and has never before been electronically shared by anyone till now. Arn't you guys lucky ;). Anyways It's a short story about the brief last few minutes of a mans life before he finally sets himself free from the insainity that is reality.
Hope you all enjoy and comments are always welcome. Cheers :).
SMOKE
By Nathan Glen Iverson
The smoke rose from my lips, dancing in the pale yellow light that emitted over my desk, until it finally dispersed into the farther reaches of my bare apartment, save for the lone couch that I spent many forlorn nights on and the old box television with a single, crooked antenna that if lucky, I could pick up a static news channel.
I took a final puff before the cherry hit the filter and snuffed it out within the ashtray amongst the many others before it. I picked up my pack which lay beside it and flipped it open, only to be heart shattered to find only one last, slightly bent cigarette within the hollow space. I started to ponder over what was more depressing, an empty pack of cigarettes and none to follow after, or a full ashtray mocking the plain fact that I'll die of this addiction. Fuck it. I took the cigarette and placed it between my lips, removing the lighter from my breast pocket and, after a few unsuccessful tries, lit it.
After enjoying that first hit, savoring every euphoric moment of it, I then stared down at the reality of my situation as I looked at the unopened letter with the familiar I.R.S. printed over the top left corner. "I'm Really Screwed." I mumbled the true translation of the acronym as I tapped my index finger over the bold printed name in the center. I tore the side of the letter, hoping that some powered poison would escape so I could give myself an excuse to go no further, but to an unfortunate avail, all that laid within was a perfectly folded piece of paper. I took another drag before removing what I knew was going to be unwelcoming news. I unfolded it and read it over, then a second time. The only thing going on in my mind at that very moment were the words burned into the paper I held. I crumpled the letter up while trying to imagine choking the son of a bitch who created It as they now became an ill favored part of my life.
I tossed the uneven ball behind me, not caring where it landed, as I took another drag off my cigarette. I stood up and walked over to the only window of my apartment and pulled open the shades, the light blinding me only temporarily, and pulled it open with a little effort I had to put into the old rotted frame. I stuck my head out and looked down below, noticing only a few people and cars passing by the 10 stories below me. I concurred at that moment that the only meaning my life had was to get screwed over constantly and fall into a neverending hole of debt. I then hoisted my leg outside and then the other so I sat on the ledge with my feet dangling in the air. I placed the cigarette between my lips and held it there as I then braced both my hands on the side of the frame. I pressed the base of my feet against the wall of the building and closed my eyes, the small stream of smoke from my cigarette being carried away by the wind as to were my worries. When I finally pushed, something released from me like a large weight from my shoulders as the wind whipped freely around my body. The moment before my impact I thought, "To bad I couldn't feel this way everyday."