Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Euphoric

Euphoric. That was the first thing to go through my mind, as the smell of burning tobacco filled the air, my fingers bringing the stick back to my mouth. Savoring the taste as smoke billowed and waned. Breathe in, breathe out. A simple process. Even in my old age it seemed I still remembered how oddly satisfying this action was, how addicting it was.

A wry smile graced my lips as I reached forward to nab another cancer stick, crushing what was left of the old one in an ashtray placed conveniently nearby. Fingers clumsily moving along the smooth edges of the lighter, a familiar click bringing flame to life.

Leaning back in the straight-back chair, I gazed around the room. Stopping the brief examination to rest on a mirror. Blueish eyes looking straight back at me, the image of a wrinkled old man frowning crookedly. Cigarette held loosely in the air. Idiotically, insanely, I laughed. Tears springing to my eyes, fingers dropping the burning stick. Unsteadily I rose to my feet, gripping the wood as I pushed myself up. Hobbling toward a dresser filled with photos, smiling faces frozen in time peering up at me. Mocking me. Laughter filling my ears, bright and filled with sunshine. Time's cruel joke showing me images of a forgotten past.

Euphoria. It was merely a madness filling me, holding me in its tender embrace. Murmuring sweet nothings in my ears as the loneliness grew. As the walls around me faded, and distorted. Phantoms of the past reappearing in the halls, chiming laughter and unspoken wishes. It was all I could do to move, to run, to get as far away as possible. I didn't want to hear it. See it.

Yet it was all I had left.

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