Characters belong to Mondo Media
Cigarettes contain a lot of chemicals and inorganic elements.
Blood releases a big amount of unstable components when it's exposed to fire...
If you mix those two, the reaction will saturate your body, and the overdose will be lethal. Like poison slowly running through arteries, like music slowly filling you ears.
Notes flowed in the darkness, smoke floated in the room, the only light was provided by the fireplace, sounds of creaking wood accompanying the melody of a music box.
He absently looked at the small glow produced by the cigarette, a cloud of white smoke exiting his slightly parted lips. He remembered something and smiled, longed voices echoed on his mind.
—Hey, Flips— said a tall man with spiked hair and olive green pupils— You shouldn't bring that cigarettes pack with you everywhere—
—Or at least share some with us— a shorter male spoke, a french accent can be easily noted on his words— Ne sois pas égoïste — he laughed jokingly, winking one of his golden eyes.
They always told him that if he keep smoking like that he will ruin his lungs and die young, but he can't help it at all, it relaxes him, it keeps him sane, it eases his pain after seeing the crimson red splash like rain drops on the battlefield.
It makes him feel better than any fucking drug the psychiatric could gave him.
He tilted his head back, exhaling a smoky circle, watching silently as it quickly fade into the air. A sad expression adorned his slightly rough features.
It was such a irony, they died younger than him.
Slowly he closed his eyes, unconsciously starting to hum the soothing song of the music box. It was one of the many objects he brought back from the war, one of the many things that held memories of the past. They all filled the dark room, like shadows monitoring him, silently cussing, hating.
Sadly, the shadows of the past were less troublesome than the ones of the present.
The shine of the flames on the fireplace weakened, and suddenly he opened his eyes, the sensation of a breath on his neck, a sick laugh whispered on his ear.
Luckily the pink little pills he takes prevent him from seeing the monster, but still he can hear him, he can feel his touch, sharp claws brushing gently against his cheek, threatening with breaking the skin.
Although he was scared, he did absolutely nothing about it. As said before the cigarettes relaxed him, he let his body embrace the sweet numbness that was softly extending all over him.
His eyes fluttered sleepily and before they completely close he put his cigarette on the ashtray. He sighed contently as the sadness and guilt, the pain and despair, seem to be erased of his mind along with the feeling of paws trying to shake him, to awake him.
The flames of the fireplace extinguished, the soft glow of the cigarette too. It was still red from the blood it has been dipped on. No lights reminded in the dark room.
The music box stopped its song.