A sequel to Ashes.
“A pack of Marlboro regulars, please!”
Sean lit a fag and smoked it listlessly. He loved it. The cigarette smoke was strong but his throat, his lungs were stronger. With dwindling footsteps and a rugged poise, head burdened with joyous premonitions, he moved towards the subway.He needed to board the train, he had to meet Penny. A swift flick of the fingers and the brown cigarette bud disembarked his hands, right into the trash bin, and cuddled amongst a half-eaten cheese sandwich, a rotten apple, and a fresh bouquet of roses. Sean fished into his pocket to retrieve a mint gum; to retrieve himself from his foul breath. He couldn’t kiss Penny, like that. He needed his mouth to be fresh; his lips moist and awaiting his love’s lips. He was in love. They have been together for more than two years now and the spark was still there.
Six months later –
Andy : “Sean, would you like to have a smoke?”
“SEAN, hey; HELLO… Would you like to have a smoke?”
Sean : “Umm…”
Andy “WHAT?”
Sean : “No thanks!”
Andy : “What the hell is wrong with you? Yes, Penny left you for the better. Now, shrug it off and get going. Don’t be this dead man, this zombie. C’mon, don’t be Frankenstein.”
Sean : “Yes, okay! I won’t smoke; not for some time at least. And by the way, Victor Frankenstein is the name of the scientist who created the monster and not the monster itself. ‘Don’t be Frankenstein?’ I’d love to be him.”
Andy : “Don’t smoke, if that makes you happy. Frankenstein or his monster; you got my point, and that’s all.”
Another six months later –
White cigarette buds were strewn on the white marble floor, gray ashes made the immaculate harmony dull, and a few pages with staff notes written on them made unflagging efforts to obliterate the monotony with their silent melodies; a drawing sheet and a few colour pencils, an almost damaged cellphone, a diary and a pen. Amidst this chaos, lay Sean, unscathed, oblivious to the filth, the cosmos.
He is in a dire need to decipher his creative and intellectual traits; that is if he does have any. He needs something to drive him, something which can make him live, make him believe in himself.
Sean, searched for a cigarette. His pack was empty. With herculean effort he got himself up, put on his jacket and walked down to the nearby store.
“A pack of Marlboro lights, please!”
Sean needed to smoke. His throat and lungs were still strong, they could bear the smoke of Marlboro regulars, but he smoked lights now.
Penny is a person of the past now.
Sean likes Tina. He isn’t in love with her, yet; and he doesn’t hope that he will be in love with her anytime soon. Sometimes he finds this feeling, his ‘like’ for Tina, repulsive.
Sean lit a fag and smoked it listlessly. He loved it.
He coughed.
He never coughed while smoking Marlboro regulars and then Marlboro lights made him cough; Sean wondered and smirked.
Sean took a long puff of his fag.
He puked.
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Marlboro regulars and ‘love’ were delightful.
Marlboro lights and ‘like’ are repugnant.
