Pack A Smokes

 

part 1 of my fictional saga

I’m not a smoker. Up until today I’ve never even smoked a cigarette once in my life and I never planned on it. But something strange happens to you when everyone and everything around you is destroyed. It’s a very unsettling feeling when you don’t know if anyone beside yourself is still alive.

It wasn’t that great. The cigarette that is. But I’ll probably smoke another one. I found this pack of smokes clutched in the hands of a young man lying face down on Shattuck Ave. He was good looking too, probably my age. I may have even bumped into him once or twice before. At least now he won’t suffer from some slow and painful death like cancer. Perhaps this was the best thing that could have happened to him. At least it was painless – I hope.

I see why people smoke now. It’s something to do, a way to release all of the nervous tension that can easily build up when you’re in a circumstance like mine. And the nicotine rush is pretty good too – although I know if I keep it up I’ll just have to smoke more and more to get the same feeling. I’m not intending on becoming a smoker on a long-term basis, but I’m sure that’s what every smoker has said in the beginning. “I’ve got it under control.”

But don’t judge me based on the fact that I stole a pack of smokes off of a dead guy and am starting a ‘bad’ and potentially deadly habit. If you were in my shoes I can guarantee you that you would be doing exactly what I’m doing.

I’m not really sure where to go from here.

My apartment has been completely destroyed. There’s only a pile of rubble lying where it used to stand. Thank God I got out in time.

I may stop back by there later in hopes to recover some of the earthquake supplies that I had stashed throughout the house. I don’t know if I’ll be able to find anything, but it’s worth a shot.