A/N: It is my first writing experience. Tell me please, if I did any mistakes. I will be grateful.
xo, Dana
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Acrid cigarette smoke is burning my throat, permeating in lungs and poisoning it. My brain is exsiccated, I'm slowly killing myself by smoking, my body is rotting alive. Every cell of my organism is full of the venom.
But despite the harmfulness of this stuff, I'm continuing to poison myself like many other people. I'm breathing the dense acrid clouds, that is flogging the throat like an emery paper, I'm inhaling more and more. This is distracting me, helping to not think of any shit at least those few minutes when the cigarette is smoldering in my hand.
Fresh and dark June evening is infecting me calmness. Breeze. Full moon. Lights. Pond in front of me. High-rise houses behind the pond. There is no soul around me, and I can't to not be glad because of this. I don't want to see anyone here. Only me, my car, nicotine smoke and June.
Finally, the cigarette is perishing. Trampling the stub, I'm sitting down on the car hood and looking on pond's water that is reflecting the lights of houses's windows. Here's one off. And one more. The time is far into the midnight, so every minute the lights are getting less.
What am I doing here? Why am I standing near the un-fucking-known pond and reducing my life by cigarettes in the middle of the night?
Probably, because I wildly tired. Of people, of troubles, of... everything. I just escaped to the quiet place, where I can be okay at least a few hours. Where I can just count glares on the water, smoking one cigarette every fifteen minutes. Where my only trouble is rare wind gusts, that seems summer-warm but nonetheless chilly in the nighttime, which are making me shiver, and I should wrap up in my leather jacket.
What a pity, I can't stop the time. I could stand here for a long time, listening grasshopper's chirrs and admiring the overcast sky that is hiding the stars. So little time to be far from all things that interferes to live peacefully. So little time... There is the moment that necessarily comes in every situation - the moment when all ends. Bad ends. Good ends. All in this life ends someday, you know? Even my few free nighthours near the pond.
Before leaving the residence of my peace I'm getting the crumpled pack of cigarettes out from my pocket. To my great regret, there is one last. Well, one more reason why I should going to go home. I'm striking sharply the cigar-lighter several times and inhaling nicotine again, then exhaling the thick cloud of smoke. Gray curls are dissolving in air, rising to sky.
A few more minutes of silence and nicotine, glares on water and light breeze, thoughts about how much I sick and plans for tomorrow. Actually, living one day at a time isn't as cool as people say. Honestly, it is shitty, when you stay at the street at the late night and don't know, what will you do tomorrow. Maybe I won't be able to save someone from suicide. Or conversely, I will help someone handles with heartache. Anything can happen, and suspense is making me trembling. Or is it wind?..
