FEAR THE SMOKE!!!

What’s the difference between a cigarette and a gun?

I thought about that today, it was an odd question given the circumstances. In fact, I'm still thinking about that. My arm’s up real high, as if I’m trying to throw some kind of grenade. It’s fully extended outwards to my side now, maybe something like a forty-five-degree angle? Now my clenched palm is going to sting later. I hope it doesn’t hit too hard, what if I break his jaw? If that happens then this pack of cigs will be the least of my worries. No… No, I think I'm alright. Even if his jaw splits open, none of these weirdos are going to care.

Alright... he felt that. I can’t stop smiling, just look at his stupid mug. So naturally he sends a furious jab at my chest (tricky bastard knows that’s playing dirty). His fist rushes through my evasive stance like a bullet as it whisks the sweat off my body.

I’m gliding past his arm like a train rushing down a platform and! - POW! That same fourty five-degree fist from before just rushes through his nose as if it were an iron ball. In a desperate attempt to save himself from embarrassment, he goes for a grapple. For a second there I was a bit scared. But that’s silly when you clock the fact my right leg just went from the ground up to his skull at a rate that I’d call... Maybe less than one second? Now he’s on the floor.

“Robin!! That was incredible!” I hear from the crowd. like a chirping bird, I twist my neck like one. My exposed body isn’t quite ready to see anyone I know. After all, I’m only wearing a small sports bra and a pair of spare leggings my neighbour lent to me. Of course, the bandages around my arms and feet count, but it’s certainly a crude look. At least my hair looks nic- 

“That was incredible!” She shouts as she embraces this odd version of me. Anarchistic psycho energy surrounds us. Emanated by the kind of people who shave their heads to try and emasculate themselves and who honestly think that they’ve got something to offer other than a fun time and alcohol to minors (such as myself).

“What’re you doing here?!” I exclaim. I mean at this point I don’t know what to say. She’s juxtaposing the entire atmosphere. What is she doing? Why is she holding me so tightly? Did I wear a nice perfume? No that can’t be it, I’m drenched in stink and little spats of blood! “Why aren’t you responding?” She lifts her head up and smiles at me. Her silky blonde hair radiates a small glow. Or is that her smile? She seems to be wearing a white blouse. Although, I can’t quite make out her feet. There’s smoke down there... Oh right!

“Here! Your cigarettes!” She shouts with glee as she jumps away from our embrace. Her hand is in front of me. Her soft hand is handing me that deadly pack of orange tips. I’m practically drooling.

“Thank you...” I speak like a dog. Somehow, I find a lighter in my hand. And let me tell you that when that bitter end caught sparks, it was so good. That sweet inhalation was soft and beautiful... 

I forgot that dream.

“Oh... God...” I moan in a rudely awakened state. My dirty room, my scraped walls. The textures of black and grey reflect almost zero light. “Do I even dream?” I ask myself as I slowly rise from the bed’s warm embrace. The rods of light that peer through my blinds are empathetic to my angst as usual. My senses tingle. I dart my head to the alarm clock- “7:30am!?” I scream. My routine is now ruined and my pride as a student is pressed like a burnt shirt! I snatch my tactless school dress and my planet sized spectacles and make a mad dash around the house to prepare for the disguised social gathering we call school. Suddenly, I slam my metaphorical breaks as I’m about explode out of the front door. The tremble in my legs reminds me; I should give her the letter today... The rhythm of my run is a guitar solo with rising tempo, I grab the letter and dash out of the house. Maybe I could be a one-woman band. That’d be great for someone depressing like me. I just lost all that tempo – She's here. She’s here at the bus stop with me now.

“You smoke?” She asks. A certain rosy scent emanates from her neck, it certainly isn’t mine. I didn’t even know It was possible to smell that good in the morning... “You going to respond or...?” 

Enough gazing Robin! She asked you a question! But I can’t stop shivering. Thank God for this long skirt. Just as always, God saved me today! I dart my head up like I can’t control the alignment of my spine. I twirl my raggedy hair as I clutch my left side with my right arm.

“Y-yeah?” I respond. That smirk I just gave was good, I’m happy with that. I catch her looking at my side. Why? Was that arm movement weird? A piercing flame shocks my abdomen causing me to gasp in an unrelenting squirm. I slam my side over and over until the embers are extinguished. Consequently, my breath seeps down into my chest and anchors for a moment. My whole body feels heavy as the girl of my dreams simply stares at me.

Of course, I did not give her the letter today. 

I wish that were a dream.

Despite everything, I feel confident that life will continue to be kind to me, after all, I’m still alive. Clearly God’s still got plans for me. My father was never around, and my mother doesn’t come home anymore. Someone once told me that I was crazy for even thinking that this life was ‘kind’. I found that insulting. Who are you to tell me that my life is crap? Even now, as I am stood in this convenience store, uniform on at nine thirty in the evening behind the soulless counter stacked with chewable snacks and an assorted variety of corporate logos that I am paid to shill for... I feel like things could have been worse. The store is quiet, but there is a ringing that comfortably fills the silence. It allows me to stand still like this.

‘Smoking will kill you one day.’

‘It breaks my heart to see this generation ignore reason.’

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to yourself.’

Words such as these pound through my skull. Of course, I know what I’m doing. I know every risk, every side effect. But I’m not scared of dying. I keep referring to my fingers, stained yellow from the nicotine residues I leave behind after every orange end. She’ll never love me. Rumour has it she shacks up with random guys all the time. I can’t believe she asked me if I smoked, as if I believe for a second that she doesn’t!... Look at me. I need a customer to come up to me just so I don’t have to think about this anymore- 

“Put everything in the bag.” A man speaks. He holds a silver tip. It’s reminiscent of a cigarette, but it's cold alure is coupled with a dark hole in the centre.

That hole contains a bullet, doesn’t it? I don’t know what the man in front of me looks like, I can’t tell now. All I can see is this side of the revolver placed up against my forehead, close enough to be blurry, far enough to be visible. “Put the money in the bag!” He roars. I scramble and shuffle. I don’t want to die! If I die now, I’ll never be able to tell her how I feel! How much I love her! Oh God please if you really do exist!

Please, oh please, oh lord please! 

I begin to recognise his movements as he thrusts his weapon into my forehead and clicks the safety. “NOW!” He screams at the top of his lungs. Our screams burst into a roaring acapella of terror as I race to meet his demands. He lifts the weapon as a burst of metal fills the room with a razor-sharp noise. I continue to scream.

He’s gone now. My heart races through each palpitation like a rocket on its way to the moon. As the buzzing from before returns, all I can see is the smoke in front of me. I press my back against the wall before loading up a cig. Once lit, the smoke blends together.

“I have to tell her tomorrow...” I announce between puffs. “Tell her tomorrow…

I will… I will…”

What’s the difference between a cigarette and a gun? 

The difference is fear.