PG-13: Smoke - by Reagan

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She took the last drag on her cigarette, breathed it in, and blew it back out into the wind. Flicking the butt into oblivion. The sun washed over her skin like water. She pushed a stray hair away from her face. Feeling the wind hit her face, she pictured wide open spaced like when she was a little girl.

Wheat waving in the wind, corn growing taller than she was, animals running all over. She could almost hear the cows moaning at night, the crickets chirping. If she closed her eyes tight enough she could smell the air and picture it perfectly.

Blinking her eyes open, she was flooded with sounds of the city. Horns honking, people yelling, construction men pounding away. She gazed out over the city she loved so much, yet hated with a passion. The smoggy air clung to her body.

She reached over to her table grabbing another cigarette, and lit it up. Watching the smoke travel into the thick air she let out a deep, long sigh.

Why do I even bother smoking? she thought silently to herself.

She took another drag, let it out slowly and watched the smoke dance before disappearing. Thinking to herself why she couldn’t be like that smoke.

Just dancing gracefully in the wind and then disappearing from every ones judging eyes. Just to be a puff, no more no less. Something small and insignificant, yet beautiful.

Another puff.

Another dance.

She was amazed how it changed each time, not forming the same path.

Breathing in another drag, she closed her eyes once more. Again the sound of the city went silent.

Silence.

Once again picturing the farm she once grew up on. Sitting on her front porch, smoking her cigarette, watching the smoke dance in the wind. She missed those days, she could sit outside by herself. Appreciating the little things in life.

Eyes open.

The city rushing back into her ears. She pushed her sunglasses back onto her face. And took one last drag of her second cigarette. Put it out.

Flicked it into oblivion.

Walked back inside her apartment.

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