It was her new habit. Appalling to her regular healthy lifestyle, but she needed it now. It was there to fill the empty gap.
A few months and her habit became an addiction. To say she was proud would've been an overstatement. She was almost disgusted when she started now she accepted it. She didn't do it because it was what everyone else was doing she did it because it was all she had now.
Years passed and she gave up trying to kick the habit, the addiction. It was a part of her and it would be until the empty void inside her was filled. She doubted she would ever be whole again. Death would bring relief, and only that. Nothing else could persuade her.
Samantha Manson, better known as Sam, stood outside on a cloudy November day. She stood beneath a lamp post and fumbled through her black purse, ignoring the wind that threw strands of dark hair against her pale thin face. At last she found what she'd been longing for all day. She was in her early thirties by now and still her childish habit followed her.
She should stop, just break the habit now and throw it all away. But she always said she'd stop everyday of her life, deep down she knew she was addicted. It was the only way she could ever feel closer to him. Because unlike her friend she couldn't let him go and move on. Because unlike her friend she could never grasp that he would go so easily.
Sam reached into the old white and gold box and produced a precious slender white stick and with a blue lighter she lit the end. The end sparked up into an orange glow and she put her lips to the filter and slowly took a drag. Enjoying every second she slowly breathed out the smoke in a pale wisp.
She sidestepped for a moment and reclaimed her center again. She took another long drag and blew out and continued the pattern automatically. The smell began to cling to her hair but it didn't bother her. She stared down at the stick, the very important one. For these were his all those years ago.
It seemed too long ago that she nagged him to stop doing that to his body. And he'd always reply with a light chuckle. "You worry too much Sam. With all I do these are going to be the last things that are going to kill me. Come on now..."
Every other year on this day she'd take from his packs, the ones he left behind. And ceremonially she'd light one up with his old lighter, which by now was hardly able to be lit without strong flicks of the thumb for a good minute or two. But the ancient lighter was almost empty. And she knew that soon the packs would all be gone.
And though his possessions would be burned away with the coming of time her love would not, and neither would this stupid addiction she liked to call a habit. He liked to call a habit.
Cold arms wrapped themselves around her neck and held tightly.
"Those things will kill ya." He whispered a strange tone of worry and calmness was present in his voice.
She sighed and flicked the butt away and held onto his grasp wishing that it wouldn't go away. Dreaming that she could feel him solid against her body.
"I know, it killed you..."
Despite it all Sam knew her habit wouldn't go away, much like his yearly visits. It was just what they needed to get through the space of time that separated them for now.
And that's what happens kids when you watch somebody smoke a cigarette for five minutes in complete and utter silence. I watched my friend and I couldn't help but get a story idea. He eventually got creeped out by the quietness. Gee I wonder who this "mysterious" guy is...hmmmm...I wonder. I also wonder why I think you guys can read sarcasm magically from text. Perhaps I am simply deranged.