Smoking

“Can I have a regular king size Demurer please?” That’s what I use to say after finishing a pack of cigarettes before the day was even finished.



It all started nine years ago my first day of grade nine. I wanted to be cool so the cool kids would like me. I managed to get my hands on a cigarette and a lighter; I sparked it and took a puff. I felt a burning sensation down my throat as if I have been trapped in a burning house full of smoke. I coughed and coughed clearing my throat trying to spit out an uncomfortable tickle in my throat. A tall lanky looking girl approached me with a mean smile on her face it sort of reminded me of the mean smile of a jack-o-lantern on Halloween night.

“Are you alright little one?” She said. I answered yes with an old mans rusty voice and coughed gently.

“Of course I am.” I stood up with great posture and walked away as if I was walking down the run way of a beauty pageant.

“Lighten up” she yelled. “Are you going to finish that cigarette? I turned around and walked back.

“Here you can have the rest.” I watched her take a couple draws and blow the smoke in my face I held my breath as if I was drowning in a pool of water.



After school I stormed out the front doors to meet my mother. There she was in her rusted Volts Wagon it almost looked like the colour of an apple that was bitten into and left to rot. I walked fast looking behind me as if I was being stalked but I was really just trying to get off school grounds before the cool girls saw me in my mothers rotten Volts Wagon. I jumped in the car repeatedly telling my mother to, “Go, go!” As soon as I got in the car the first thing my mother asked me was if I had been smoking because the unbearable scent of cigarette smoke stained my blouse. She made a rude comment that I smelt like an ash tray. My mind than ran on my new Victoria Secret perfume that would have gotten rid of the odor in my pink knitted wool sweater that my...