Several Settings, Single Subject
The sun is lazy glazing over your driver side mirror, the window cracked full on open and your left foot propped, unshoed, out of the window. It's summertime, blown wide open, and the song on the radio is letting you know full and well that this is your time. You are youth, you are free, you are miles from unstoppable and nothing could compliment this cool blue sky day better than a few drags off of that flaming little fag between your fingers. Suck, smoke, blow, baby.
It's a rainy morning and waiting for the bus at 6:30 am in the rain is just about as low down as a man wants to ever see himself. No one for miles, no headlights promising your ride's approach and only you and the numbing-silent rhythm of the beating precipitation to witness these events. Luckily, however, you've got a back up plan. You reach into your pocket and procure the following two items: one cigarette and one lighter, for the purpose of initiating cigarettes. You find yourself content to wait now, with an old friend only the lift of a hand away.
It's 2:47 in the pm, you're a working stiff, and you'd sure like a break. Unfortunately, you don't smoke, and so as you watch all of your pals head outside to huddle around the Smoker's Outpost, you're left at your workstation to toil away. The bossman walks by and sees your co-workers mingling on a scheduled break hour, smoking and generally showing valid teamwork potential, and who does he notice is gone? That uptight little priss from accounting who's too good to go out with the boys and have a puff. (in this story, you're the uptight priss from accounting)
Hospital beds have a particular smell which you never particularly liked. That's all fine and well, however, as you haven't been able to smell for the past 20 years. Here you are, though, laying in a hospital, a tube stuck in your throat and your cock so limp you could pour it down a drain. Though no one but God can know the exact time and death of a mortal soul, it's apparent that you'll be finding out when yours would be within the next couple of hours or so. A nurse hasn't checked on you in 7 hours, as you're just another bed waiting to be emptied. And your family quit coming around after you threw a fit and called them all gold digging slugs when they wouldn't give you a final cigarette on your death bed. Goodnight, and for Christ sake's you old fucker, die already.
It's a rainy morning and waiting for the bus at 6:30 am in the rain is just about as low down as a man wants to ever see himself. No one for miles, no headlights promising your ride's approach and only you and the numbing-silent rhythm of the beating precipitation to witness these events. Luckily, however, you've got a back up plan. You reach into your pocket and procure the following two items: one cigarette and one lighter, for the purpose of initiating cigarettes. You find yourself content to wait now, with an old friend only the lift of a hand away.
It's 2:47 in the pm, you're a working stiff, and you'd sure like a break. Unfortunately, you don't smoke, and so as you watch all of your pals head outside to huddle around the Smoker's Outpost, you're left at your workstation to toil away. The bossman walks by and sees your co-workers mingling on a scheduled break hour, smoking and generally showing valid teamwork potential, and who does he notice is gone? That uptight little priss from accounting who's too good to go out with the boys and have a puff. (in this story, you're the uptight priss from accounting)
Hospital beds have a particular smell which you never particularly liked. That's all fine and well, however, as you haven't been able to smell for the past 20 years. Here you are, though, laying in a hospital, a tube stuck in your throat and your cock so limp you could pour it down a drain. Though no one but God can know the exact time and death of a mortal soul, it's apparent that you'll be finding out when yours would be within the next couple of hours or so. A nurse hasn't checked on you in 7 hours, as you're just another bed waiting to be emptied. And your family quit coming around after you threw a fit and called them all gold digging slugs when they wouldn't give you a final cigarette on your death bed. Goodnight, and for Christ sake's you old fucker, die already.
posted by ClickNathan at 6:17 PM
2 Comments:
That's powerful, and I love it. You're a talented writer... glad you made this new site!
Old fucker... 35 is so young.
I can't imagine not being able to smell things. Everything would taste bland... memories would have no lingering smell. I wouldn't even know my own lover's scent as he changes from nervous to excited. The smell of an old pillow that's been cried into all night. Or how the bruised grass overwhelmed my nostrils as I danced around the sprinklers on hot summer days.
To me that would be like giving up my sight for chocolate.
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