Miss Stealer: Okay, so, we finally got to talk about creative writing in one of my classes (I swear the teacher thinks we're 2nd graders...) and she told us we were writing stories to share. Of course, I immediately got really excited. She made us pick from buckets labeled Who, What, Where, and then Pictures. I picked A lonely business man, writing a report, at the doctor's office, and my picture was 'No Smoking'. So, I thought of Hetalia. It does have a foreshadowing of death (which my teacher was surprised at) so if you don't want to see little Latvia die, don't read. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I DO NOT own Hetalia.
. . .
The sky was looming far overhead, casting long shadows as the sun set and shrouded the once busy city in darkness. Raivis Galante sat in a cookie-cutter, gray cubicle on the fifteenth floor of a tall skyscraper. Some of the large glass windows were cracked open, letting the heavy smoke from the inside seep out into the already polluted air of the city. His hands typed furiously on a company computer and his eyes became bloodshot from staring at the bright screen in the dark for too long. Raivis sighed, smoke coming out of his mouth in a graceful wave of dangerous addiction as he paused in his work to puff his cigarette. He knew he wasn't allowed to take part in his comforting ritual inside of the building, but at the moment, he couldn't care less.
"All of this needs to be finished for Mr. Braginski by eleven thirty and it's only," he squinted at the digitalized clock on the monitor, "ten fifteen… I can't do this…"
His deadlines for the reports assigned to him by his boss were coming much faster than he would've liked. Raivis had to get them done, though, so he could take the day off for his doctor's appointment the next day. The sky grew to almost pitch black before he finally finished, and with two minutes to spare. Sighing heavily, he leaned back in his rather uncomfortable chair as he watched the last report be sent to his boss successfully. Mr. Braginski was like a slave driver, and sometimes Raivis wondered how in the world the man ever even got a job in the first place, but he thought that working for the harsh Russian man was better than not having a job at all.
He picked up his things and cleared out all of the smoke, spraying gallons of air freshener to mask the smell. As he traveled in the elevator and to the first floor, Raivis finally felt the entirety of his exhaustion settle upon him and cause him to stumble in his steps. He was surprised to see the morning desk worker still at her post.
"Oh! Good night, Raivis! Please stay safe and have a nice day off tomorrow!" She said happily. Raivis briefly wondered where the peppy girl got all of her energy and how she managed to never be anything but in a good mood.
"Yes, good night, Michelle. Thank you." With that he was out the door and free from the confines of the dreary office for another twenty-four hours.
As he headed home, his feet on autopilot, having ingrained the way to his small apartment into his brain early on, he lit another cancer stick, sucking in the harmful smoke contently. When Raivis arrived at his small apartment, he didn't even bother to change his clothes before he plopped down face first onto his bed and into a fitful slumber.
Raivis woke with a start; his phone ringing shrilly in his ear. He groaned and blindly searched for it, picking the plastic device up and opening it lazily.
"Hello?" he asked in a scratchy voice.
"Ah, Raivis, good thing you are up!" Mr. Braginski's thick accent jolted Raivis into being fully awake. "I got the reports; good job. However there is one more you must do for me today. You can handle this, da?"
"Y-yes sir," Raivis stuttered, not wanting to defy his frightening boss, "R-right away sir."
"Good. Have a nice day, da?" Without waiting for Raivis' response, Mr. Braginski hung up and left the line dead.
Raivis sighed despondently and trudged over to where his laptop sat and looked at the report he was given through his email. Checking the clock, he saw that it was six in the morning; he had only received about fife and a half hours of sleep and his doctor's appointment was in three hours. That wasn't enough time to get the entire thing done, so Raivis figured he could squeeze in some time while at the doctor's office. When the time finally came to leave, he packed up his trusty laptop, grabbed an apple, and headed out into the cold November air.
The wind cut at his bare cheeks, dusting them a rosy pink and making them numb. Because of his lack of a car, Raivis walked all the way to the sleek office of Doctor Laurinaitis, whom most call Toris, his first name. As he walked, he lit yet another cigarette to calm his nerves. Raivis entered the warm office and sat down in a corner chair, pulling out his laptop to furiously type out his report. He knew he was early, so he got quite a bit done before he was called in.
The room was a sterile white that blinded his tired eyes, making him long for the comfort of his soft bed at home. He didn't dare close them, though, in fear of actually falling asleep on the itchy paper on top of the rather stiff cushions. With the laptop propped on his knees, he continued to write, getting so into the report that he didn't hear the knock on the door.
"Hello there, Raivis!" Dr. Toris said, his tone very soft and smooth," I haven't seen you in a while, how are you?" Raivis quickly put away his laptop and stared sleepily at the other man.
"Quite well, thank you; and yourself?"
"Good, thank you for asking." The doctor sat down and took out his clipboard," So, how is that smoking problem of yours?"
"Well," Raivis hesitated. He didn't want to reveal that his habit had progressively gotten worse over the course of just nine months. "It's… not too good."
"Raivis," Dr. Toris turned toward him with a serious look," The longer you smoke, the faster your health will deteriorate. We don't want that, now do we?"
"Not at all, sir."
"Alright then, I'm going to set you on a course that will get you to the point where you don't need to rely on cigarettes at all. How does that sound?" the doctor questioned, an encouraging smile on his face. His look gave Raivis confidence and he eagerly agreed to Dr. Toris' plan, hoping that he could keep up with it.
The rest of the appointment went on as normal, and Raivis walked out of the office with a new goal and an unwritten report due in two hours. Out of habit, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. Remembering what he had just discussed with the doctor, Raivis decided he would start his road to recovery tomorrow, and went back home.
As the months went by, however, Raivis found himself saying that line everyday whenever he decided he needed a smoke. He knew that he desperately needed to quit, especially because his health had started to take a turn for the worse a short while after the appointment. It didn't help that his boss was still working him to his grave, making him stay late to finish work, which caused Raivis to get nervous. When Raivis was nervous, he smoked. So, as his habit grew worse and his work load became unbearable, he found himself with a cold. However, this cold seemed to get worse and worse until he found himself having to check into the hospital.
"Well, well, well," Raivis slowly turned his heavy head to the door and saw Dr. Toris entering his room," I have to say, I'm not surprised, Raivis." He sat down next to the sick man and sighed. "You didn't follow my plan at all did you?"
Raivis' eyes shifted guiltily to the suddenly interesting pattern of the blue hospital sheets. Dr. Toris grabbed the clipboard at the edge of the bed and looked through the papers there, his face falling. He paused to collect his thoughts and confronted Raivis.
"Raivis…you've developed stage two lung cancer. Since you came to us too late… I'm afraid we can't do anything to remove it from your body…"
Raivis' eyes watered in disappointment and fear. If he had listened to his doctor and stayed on the path they had created on that gloomy day months ago, he wouldn't be in this situation. He had never thought about death before. It had always seemed like something that would never happen; that he would end up avoiding it forever. Now, though, he realizes how close to death he has always been. Perhaps that's why he was never afraid of it. He shared an apartment with it, worked with it, walked with it, and bought groceries with it. Death was always following him, and Raivis now understood that the plan Dr. Toris gave to him was like a restraining order for his constant companion.
A pair of arms held him close as he sobbed, letting out all of his worries. This was the only comfort he had, for he had left his family in Latvia many years before. He knew what would happen to him, he even knew when he started smoking, but there was nothing to do about it now.
The next day, even though he was slowly fading away, he was on his laptop yet again, writing his last report. Raivis knew he didn't have to do it, but it gave him comfort, just like his cigarettes once gave him. As he closed the laptop when he was finished, his weak fingers shaking, he recalled the last line of the report on 'The Effects of Smoking in the Office':
"And so, as I write this report from my death bed, I say to you: don't smoke. You could end up like me. Worked into the grave and sent off in a puff of smoke."
. . .
Like? I actually didn't like it too much, but oh well. I guess this could act as a filler until I update Pacata Horologiis. By the way, did anyone see The Hobbit? I freaking loved it :D Anywhoozles, hope you enjoyed! See you later my little lemon drops ^_^
~Miss Stealer