Holiday Cigarette

This post is a short creative writing piece; please take the following as fiction and for entertainment purpose only.

Life can suck. The idea of waking up to a sober world that runs perfectly, in harmony, aiming towards a common goal bores me. What fun lies within the responsibility, especially when it relates to such mundane topics as personal health. I fall into the abstract routine of constant ‘f*ck you’s’, some thrown at my neighbours while others at the TV screen. The fact that the thing is still standing without my left shoe through it can be counted as a miracle. I began with it, and I’ll repeat it, life sucks. It really, really does. But you know what sucks even more? Me.

I’ve stopped smoking a couple of years back, and, well, yeah, I probably feel better than I would have if I continued the habit. But trust me when I say that I have hated every single waking moment of my life since I’ve stopped—the f*cking boredom. The rush has been removed from my daily routine. Every time I walk past someone in the streets, and they happen to blow their after-smoke into my face, wow, I could kiss them right there and then. Smoke. The aftermath of innovation; the killer of planets; the needle that bursts the balloons we call lungs. The heartless b*tch. A lover that leaves once you’ve got nothing left to give. I have things, come and take them from me. What other use do I have for it?

That’s my life. Routine filled and boring. Breaking away from the same old sh*t is the only thing that keeps me going throughout the year. That’s the time where life cheats at its own game. The time where we cannot see the cards hidden up our sleeves. It could be an ace; it could be a queen; or, just maybe, it could be the short stick that can bring me that sweet taste I crave. I call them holiday cigarettes. The lover that keeps me company when I am alone. The one that nobody gets to meet and never know—my dirty little secret. We kiss like the French and tango the dance of death. She takes my breath away and fills the empty void. Take my wallet and all that is in it. I wish for this holiday to never end.

Maybe this is where the term ‘Holidays cannot last forever’ comes from. I cannot sustain this life. To give everything I have for a quick sense of stability. A poison that helps me forget the sh*t I have to endure throughout my day. Everyone always tells me that it's better for me, in the long run, to be here for my kids and the ones closest to me. F*ck all that, they do fine on their own. You don’t see me complaining when they bury themselves in the endless crap; I can name millions of ways it kills. I just don’t care. The f*ck’s I have are finite, and they do not deserve this precious currency. I keep my f*uck’s close to my chest; unless you’re the ars*hole neighbour and his f*cking dog. They get the majority. They should be millionaires by now. Enjoy the f*cks I gave you – you f*ck. Let me enjoy my cigarette in peace and leave me be. In my head, I am on holiday, and to have you in the same resort makes me sick.

I guess I should enjoy my last drags of the night. The holiday is bound to come to an end, and the cogs in the machine will continue to turn. I’m part of that stupid machine. Just a cog in a sea of f*cking cogs. I’m a little rusty. Tired. In need of a pick me up… In need of another holiday.

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