I Like to Smoke

June 18, 2010
By Anonymous

I roll my thumb quickly over the metal circle, and with a sharp whick, fire appears out of a tiny hole, a small and friendly face in my sucky life. Lips molded around the soft stick of poisons, I touch the tip to the flame and inhale one, twice.
That’s my first reaction. Sometimes it tastes bad. Sometimes it doesn’t. This was one of those second times. By the third puff, I couldn’t taste it anymore, and the world was beginning to relax. I let my spine curve into the framework of my front porch door, sliding down a little and resting my head against it. I was the only person home, as per usual. Who knew where my dad was. Who cared. Not me. I inhaled again, deeply, feeling it rush down my throat and into my lungs.

Some people say the nicotine high wears off after a while, but it hasn’t for me. I still get thoroughly toasted, even after five months. As nasty a habit as it might be, nothing compares to the lack of stress and lightheaded awesomeness I get from a cigarette. My mom smokes. My grandma does, too. So did my great grandma, when she was alive. My aunts and uncles smoked. I smiled to myself, bringing it to my lips once more.

It wasn’t ideal smoking weather, though. I liked it when it was colder, a little windy; that way I wouldn’t be able to smell it or feel the heat on me. I knew all the effects of smoking. Who didn’t? Ironically enough, I was taking Health this semester in school. I snorted to myself, and then froze. A car was driving by. Quickly, I tucked my cigarette behind my calf. Then I exhaled and removed it. It wasn’t anyone I knew; I was safe.

There was only one tiny problem with this… I was only seventeen. I’d already been caught twice by my parents for doing it, one involving me getting suspended from the bus. Still, I didn’t want to stop. I could if I wanted- I did, in fact- with little to no problems. But I didn’t want to. I liked the feeling I got. Who did I get them from? Who didn’t I get them from is more like it. My grandma (for a short while), then I took them from her, my best friend, my other friends, friends of those friends, strangers… It wasn’t a hard thing to do, as long as I had an extra five bucks lying around.

I took my last inhale and then stubbed it out, flicking it under my porch and into darkness. I exhaled, sighing. I should stop. It was bad for me and I didn’t want to get addicted, did I? I stressed over this fact for a few minutes, thinking of what I would be like in a few decades if I kept on with this nasty habit… The buzz wore off in wake to my anxiety. I coughed then, and my throat was raspy. Dry like I needed a drink of water. Agitation hinted at my anxiousness, and in an attempt to calm down, I picked up my lighter and brought another cigarette to my mouth. This would definitely help.

The author's comments:
Yes, yes... I know. Smoking is a terrible habit. Currently, I am on the mend (again). It was my choice, not because I got caught again. I really have no intentions of being addicted. As for this, well, this is a scenario that occurred almost everytime I did it. Please don't judge me. I am not endorsing it or recommending it. I smoked while I was a minor, and it was wrong. I realize that.

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