Written by grassqueen.

I exhaled a heavy cloud of smoke as the last of the day’s sun sunk down behind the palm trees. It hung like fog in the thick Florida air. I tossed the cigarette butt into the can by my doorstep and opened the pack to remove another. Shit, my lucky one. After this I'd have to run to the gas station and pick some more up. I really needed to quit, it's a disgusting habit, and an expensive one at that. But it's just so hard. Not only am I physically addicted but I'm dependent on these damn things, they are my best friends. I have gotten through some of the hardest times in my life because of them. Whenever I was stressed, happy, depressed, or anything, the smokes were always there for me. Hell, I even owed them for meeting the love of my life.

Back track two years: I was out at the bar one night and of course, I had run out. I hate bumming cigs from most people, and I usually won't, but a tall, dark, and very handsome man walked passed on his way out to the smoking deck and I figured not only could I have a possible smoke, but maybe some flirty conversation as well. I quickly followed behind him. As I approached, I was pleasantly surprised to see he was already in the process of pulling two out and handing me one. "I saw you throw your empty pack away inside, here you go." he said with a smile while he pulled out a zippo and lit me right up. Wouldn't you know? We smoked the same kind. I then watched him take a third cigarette and flip it upside down in the pack. “What are you doing with that?” I giggled. “It’s a lucky cigarette, you smoke that one last.” We talked all night and the rest is history. It was a match made in heaven if there ever was one.

Anyway, back to my story. I walked inside and headed upstairs to take a shower. I was going over to a girlfriend's house, so I figured I'd grab a pack on the way. I started the water, then walked into my bedroom to choose an outfit for the night. I heard the familiar sound of the exhaust on my boyfriend's bike outside the front of my house. The front door opened and he yelled up the stairs "Hey babe, I got you a pack of smokes. I'm headed out." I heard the door shut again, the bike start back up and speed off.

My boyfriend has been dead for 5 months now. He was killed on his motorcyle by a semi on the causeway. It was a very gruesome accident. I went with his mother before the visitation to his private viewing, and all they would show us was his hand. I had a terrible time with the whole ordeal and now I was convinced I had to be going crazy. Audio hallucinations are possible right? I made my way to the stairs and slowly descended them. At the bottom, I bent down and picked up what I was hoping would have disappeared by the time I reached it. It was a full pack of cigarettes, and wouldn't you know, the lucky one was already flipped.

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